


Patient

by alifetime



Series: Patience, Prudence and Expectations [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Hurt Peter Parker, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Siblings, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-07-23 21:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifetime/pseuds/alifetime
Summary: Just because Tony has retired as an Avenger, does not mean he still doesn’t have a business to run with Pepper. Since both his oldest children cannot always babysit for Morgan, he hires a babysitter.Harley didn’t really know what to think of the babysitter, and always kept a protective eye on Morgan. But she had told him that Skip was nice. She always seems to be smiling and happy whenever Skip comes to stay. It didn’t filter his concern. So when he goes college, he demands that Peter keeps an eye on him.Peter liked Skip. Until he didn’t. However, he will do anything to keep his brother and sister safe.





	1. Party of None

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING(S):  
> implied rape/non-con ( non-graphic )  
> implied paedophilia / underage  
> black mail  
> manipulation  
> psychological abuse
> 
> these are the warnings thus far. if you do not feel comfortable with reading any of this, then please do click off. will be added if more surface.
> 
> i do not own any of the characters in this story.
> 
> ( may be slow to update )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the start of the school holidays. Tony and Pepper have their work cut out for them, and the boys are not always available to look after their little sister. What better way to welcome back an old friend from work?

_“...heroes such as The Great Iron Man, Black Widow and Captain America will be missed. The sacrifices they made to the Earth were more than enough…”_

The T.V. went blank.

“Hey! I was watching that!” 

Pepper shook her head fondly at the sight. She hadn't expected to find her husband sprawled across their sofa, right hand tipping a spoon to feed himself ice cream and left arm spread across the back of the sofa. 

“You find it amusing that the world thinks you're dead?” Pepper didn’t find the news at all very funny, but Tony seems to think so. 

“Hell yeah,” said Tony, scooping more vanilla ice cream from the bowl. 

“Daaaaad! Where’s the ice cream?!” Peter cries out desperately from the kitchen. 

“STOP SHOUTING!” came Harley’s reply from upstairs. 

“I’M NOT SHOUTING! YOU ARE!” 

There was a bellowing bang from upstairs, Harley having slammed his bedroom door shut. 

“Pepper, tell me I didn’t just witness my two precious sons arguing?” 

Pepper sighed, placing the remote down on the coffee table by Tony's propped up feet. She then noticed that their little girl, Morgan, was curled by Tony’s side, thumb half-way from her mouth.

“Have you been like this the entire day?” Pepper questioned, her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t annoyed by the possible truth. It had been a few months since snapping Thanos from existence; Tony was still in recovery. His arm is no longer in a cast, but it’s weak. He can move his fingers and his hand, but his arm still needs more resistance. As for the side of his face—like his arm—the scarring will never rid itself from its marred complexion. 

Tony shifted in his position. Morgan stirred a bit but didn’t wake up. 

_“Daaaad…”_ Peter came into view, his hair a mess and eyes tired.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” said Pepper with a soft smile. 

The teen smiled back, then directing his gaze to a smirking Tony. “You alright, Gordon Ramsay?”

“No. That ice cream was for me.” Peter sounded more like a child than Morgan does typically. He must have been napping. The hoodie (that surely belonged to Harley) swallowing his small frame indicated so. Pepper never catches him in a hoodie unless he's having a lazy day. “I spent my wages on that.”

“Bless you, Pete,” Tony snorted. “It was generic cookie dough ice cream. How about trying a new flavour?”

Peter huffed, already making his way from the room. “You’re so _meeeeaaan.”_

Pepper turned back to Tony, a crease in her brow. “What’s up with him?”

“Think it’s to do with the term starting soon. Harley’s flying off to MIT in two weeks, and I gotta get back to work.” Tony looked like a beat puppy. The whole summer Tony and the kids coddled one another. Or rather, Tony spent the better part of the summer helicoptering both Peter and Harley more than he would have five years ago. He had stolen plenty of needed cuddles with Peter and sarcastic backlash from Harley. 

“Out of all of this, with Peter going back to school in Queens, Harley is flying miles away—after not seeing him for five years, might I add—and us working on the company … where is Morgan gonna be in all of this?”

“We’re going to have to work our way around it,” said Pepper, sitting beside their daughter. She let her fingers drift over Morgan’s soft hair. “It takes a good hour for Peter to get to school and get home. He said he was fine with it, Tony. Maybe we need to hire a babysitter until Peter gets back home. We have no clue how long these meetings will run for.”

“Peter will not be happy with babysitting Morgan all the time.” Pepper frowned at this and Tony immediately went into explaining. “He’s a teenager, Pep. May not be as reckless as I was—”

“Far from it.”

“—but he likes going out as Spider-Man after school. No matter how much I tell him not to, he still doesn’t come home until early evening. And I don’t wanna be that parent, Pep. He needs a life. And so does Harley.”

Pepper felt the familiar swell of fondness in her heart for the man. A feeling she got to experience a lot when her husband talked of his children. When Tony discovered time travel to bring his two boys back, there was nothing pepper could do to stop him. Having Morgan was a breakthrough for Tony, but Pepper had seen the look of parents who had lost their children before, and those eyes he bore wavered for five years. Not only did he watch his youngest son die before him, he comes back to Earth, simply to discover that his other son was no longer apparent. And it took a toll on Tony. Then little Morgan came along. It was never going to be enough to fill the hole in Tony’s heart, but it made him smile—a genuine smile that hadn’t appeared on his face since the Snap.

Pepper had known Harley and Peter from the beginning and still sees them as anything but nearly grown adults. In her eyes, they are still those sweet, little boys she helped raise. Seeing the boys alive again … it made the hollowness in her heart fill that she hadn’t even realised she had lost. 

Tony let his eyes slip shut, his teeth biting at his bottom lip in concentration. “I don’t know how to go about this, Pep.”

“I’m sure Happy will be available?” Pepper is certain Happy will willingly take care of Morgan. But the man currently—and looked as if will be remaining—in the better part of Queens … flirting with May Parker. It isn’t a problem, and it has made Happy all the more protective of Peter.

“Happy spends most of his time with May,” grunted Tony. “I don’t wanna pull him away from that. I have someone in mind who can look after the little one here.” He let his injured hand sooth over Morgan’s forehead affectionately. His smile was tender but tired. “I just don’t want to be away a lot … Not like I was with Harley and Peter…”

“Oh, Tony…” Pepper understood his hesitation now. It was no secret that both Harley and Peter had to be babysat by Happy and Rhodey a lot. Or their private babysitter altogether. Tony was a very busy man. He would work all day, seven until six. He only made it home for dinner, or sometimes he would barely make it home before both boys had to go to bed. It didn’t stop his sons from adoring him any less. Peter still clings to Tony like his life depends on it, especially after he lost his mother and stepfather, then having to watch his uncle die before his eyes. Harley stayed with his dad rather than his mum because he had greater schooling opportunities in New York, yet stole the time of his mother on the weekends, much like Peter had with Mary and Richard, then to Ben and May. 

Tony’s guilt for neglecting his boys never stopped. And it never will. Harley and Peter have never brought it up once, and adore their father to pieces. Pepper merely wishes Tony would see this. 

“First of all, Morgan will never put this on you, and you know that,” Pepper begins with a gentle temper. Tony let his eyes flicker passed her, not quite braving looking her in the eyes. “Second, you won’t be out every single night. Just a few times a week.”

“To fix this mess up,” said Tony. “Why can’t Rhodey just sort this shit out?”

“Because he’s older than you. And old men need their rest.”

“He won’t be very happy to hear you say that.” 

The summer holidays was a break for the whole family. Tony and Pepper spent enough time at home and around the private lake. As Tony is on house arrest so none of the public catch sight of him, he was bound to get bored. At one point, Peter had suggested they move back into the tower. Both Tony and Pepper immediately shut him down with perfect reasoning. Tony had to scoop his youngest son into a headlock to stop the embarrassment rising onto the teens' cheeks for suggesting something so silly. Considering none of the others are on lock-down, Tony spent the better part of the summer freaking out whenever Harley and Peter so much as left his sight. The injuries he had sustained made him loopy on medication. Pepper was brought in on Tony forcing Harley and Peter to watch the live actions of Dumbo, The Lion King, to watch Frozen II and Pokémon Detective Pikachu because they missed a lot in the past five years. Or how whenever Peter brought up an internet joke, Tony would shut him down—

“Shaggy’s power is unlimited.”

“Kid, that meme died back in twenty-nineteen. Let it go.”

 _“What?!_ How long was I gone?!”

Pepper isn’t one to get the whole gist behind these so-called ‘memes’, but it is quite entertaining to watch Peter behind on the times for once instead of Tony. 

“Who is it you are thinking of?” Pepper broke the comfortable silence. They needed to get this sorted out as soon as possible. Harley is off to MIT in the morning, and Peter is back to school in two days. 

Tony let the moment settle before answering. “Steven Westcott."

"Oh, right." Pepper shamefully forgot about him for the moment. "

*****

Tony wandered around the office aimlessly. He was waiting for the others to show up. And his prayers were answered when none other than the famous Steven Westcott showed up. Professional as always. With his odd sense of bleached blonde hair, but kind eyes and smart stance. 

For the past couple of years, Steven had been looking after Morgan when needed. The little girl adored the man. He was great with kids. He had told Steven when he retired he needn’t require his assistance anymore. Tony needed him more than ever now. 

“Hey, Skip.”

The first day they met, Steven had insisted he be called Skip. That was perhaps the only ‘unprofessional’ thing about him. Tony couldn’t care less. All that mattered is that Skip looked great on his and Pepper's company. He was standing at twenty-seven-years-old, freshly shaved every other morning, hair set back into a neat quiff with only a few baby hairs peeking out and a suit and jacket in tow. It is easy to say that Tony and him have become somewhat friends. 

“Mr Stark,” greeted Skip, surprise evident in his voice. He placed down his satchel, straightening up a little more. “It’s good to see you again, sir. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you, Skip,” Tony returned politely. He wasn’t in the mood for having a full-on conversation. He needed to get this meeting done as soon as possible. Peter gets out of school at 2:45, and Happy will be picking Morgan up from elementary school in ten minutes. The whole fiasco is a big pain in the ass. 

Tony knows that no matter how much Peter adores his baby sister, but he will eventually become restless with the same routine every day. Not to mention Happy will be having a fit about it as well. 

“I was wondering if you would be able to babysit Morgan?” said Tony, leaving no room for any arguments. (Unless Skip had a genuine reason why he couldn’t). But he was relieved to see the small smile the young man cast him, eyes sparkling. 

“Of course, sir. I’m available every day after work.”

“That’s great,” said Tony. “It will fluctuate a lot. My meetings happen in an ill-judged fashion. I suppose you’ll be flexible with your hours?” 

Skip nodded. A little eagerly, at that. “Yes, that’s fine.” Tony guessed that because the pay is good for him as well, even though Tony gave him a raise and offered more money than babysitting should require. But he trusts this man with Morgan. “How long until, exactly?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will I be cooking dinner for her? What about your other kids?”

Skip knows all about Harley and Peter. Morgan had shown him pictures of her brothers. Skip seemed incredibly interested in the boys. More so than Tony could say. Especially when Tony proudly told the man that both his sons had achieved excellence levels in their schools and were definitely on their way to promising futures. 

“Well, Harls isn’t gonna be staying with us for the moment,” Tony explained nonchalantly. “He's heading over to MIT in two weeks.”

“That’s amazing, Mr Stark.” Once again, Skip sounded amazed and intrigued by this. Even when he finally took his seat opposite Tony, he leaned forward with interest. Oh, how Tony loves showing off his kids to others. 

“Peter, however, still at the tender age of sixteen. Just turned last month. He can cook, despite the lessons his Aunt gave him.” _God forbid May managing to teach Peter anything that has to do with the kitchen._ “Harley can't, for that matter, but I’m not letting them live off fast food for the remainder of two weeks. It would be a good idea for you to stick around until we get back. If that’s okay with you.” 

Tony had never seen someone look so excited to simply babysit a couple of kids. “It’s not a problem at all, sir.” 

*****

“I’m sure Peter will be fine with babysitting Morgan for a while.” 

Harley, Tony and Pepper were sitting around the dining room table. It faced towards the sun setting behind the lake, splashing the house in an orange and pink glow. If it wasn’t for the beautiful scenery in upstate New York, Tony would have moved to a completely different state. It was peaceful and away from the public eye. 

They could hear the sounds of the occasional laughter of Morgan and the animated chatting between Steven Westcott and Peter. 

One word that Harley had been hovering over for the past couple of hours since Skip had been here: _trust._ And that word is directed towards Tony. There isn’t anyone he doesn’t trust more, and that is his dad. He trusts people with different things; he should trust Tony on this—trusting him when it comes to Skip. A man he had only met today.

There was an absence that Harley felt. When he shook the man’s hand, he had to suppress a shiver and politely smile. He watched as Peter shyly—but with ease—took Skip’s hand after Harley’s. And the older boy didn't know if he was being a little bit too suspicious, but the guy gave him the creeps. 

The way he held onto both Harley’s and Peter’s hands a little too long for his comfort. The way he licked his lips when Peter shook his hand. The way he continued looking between Morgan and Peter back in the living room just … it screamed danger. He didn’t feel comfortable with leaving Skip alone with Morgan or Peter at all. Tony had told him Skip had been willingly babysitting Morgan for a couple of years and Morgan idolises him. It didn't make him any less uncomfortable.

“Peter doesn’t need that burden, kid,” Tony replied after a long sip of his coffee. “He’s got a lot of stuff going on at school. And I don’t need you worrying whilst you’re away.” 

“And Morgan’s perfectly comfortable with the guy?” Harley looked over his shoulder again back at his two younger siblings. 

When he came back from the dead, he was more shocked to find out he had a baby sister rather than the fact he had been snapped out of existence. He can’t remember what happened. One minute he was in the middle of an algebra test in school, with a couple of terrified screams rattling in his ears, the next he was back, but no teacher was in the classroom, nor were half of his classmates that he had been taking the test with had been there. The test paper that had been in front of him was gone, but the pencil he had in his hand remained. It was strange, to say the least. Especially when he and his classmates walked out into the hall to find students appearing out of nowhere and other students and teachers coming out of their classrooms, only to start screaming again, but this time with pure and utter joy and heartache. Then when he got home, he finds the compound splintered to smithereens, his father on his death bed, his little brother looking beaten to the pulp and Pepper holding a sweet, little girl who went by the name of Morgan… Who happened to be his little sister. 

His job as a big brother had intensified, both him and Peter falling in love with Morgan and telling her all sorts of crazy stories that had her warming up to them in no time. Exclaiming that Peter was her favourite superhero and that Harley must show her how to make his famous potato gun. The days leading up to the summer showed Harley’s protective side of being a Stark. There was one time when Morgan tried to follow Peter up a tree, not realising that Peter can automatically stick to things, and Harley nearly had a heart attack when he saw how high she was. Peter ~~being an oblivious dickwad~~ didn’t notice until Harley was screaming at the girl to get down. 

Peter was glad that his days of being the youngest Stark was over. It was nice to know that all the attention was finally diverted from him and had fixed itself onto the youngest Stark. And the young Spiderling became even more protective of his family as a whole after the events of the war. Harley can’t say he blames him. 

He was snapped from his gaze when Tony chuckled. “Don’t you worry, bambino. The worst thing I’ve ever caught Skip doing is teaching Morgan how to make cakes.”

Pepper followed his line of amusement. “The whole kitchen looked as if a bomb had hit it.”

“Yes … But with a little more frosting.” 

Harley tried to tone it down. He _tried._ But it never truly settled with him.

When he said goodbye to Skip— _f_ _inally_ —at 10, his hand lingered a little too long for his liking again. And he watched as his baby sister reached up and gave Skip a kiss on the cheek. He only remained calm because the man didn’t return it. 

Harley couldn’t help a yelp when Skip pulled him into a forceful hug. He saw the look on Tony's face when Harley didn’t return it. And as he was raised to be a friendly and polite boy, he awkwardly patted Skip on the back to let him know that the hug was over. Yet it remained … a little longer. The same went for Peter. But the younger boy had always been a very tactful person, so he had no problem in bringing Skip into a little ‘bro hug’ to return the favour of the much more … suggesting hug Skip was offering. 

As soon as he was gone, Pepper announced that they should all head off to bed. Morgan and Peter had school in the morning. As Harley didn’t, he stayed up late. 

He’s still trying to come accustomed to his father’s sleep schedule. It is much better than it was months ago—years ago, rather. He’s now going to bed at reasonable times. Then again, he doesn’t need to tinker in the lab as much as he used to. That didn’t stop Harley from going down there for a while to work on little things for himself. However, this time, he sat on the sofa, watching the blank T.V. There was a faint buzzing noise coming from the kitchen—the fridge, most likely. And he just _couldn’t_ sleep. 

Something about Skip didn’t seem right. 

*****

A week in and Peter had noticed the bags under Harley’s eyes. They seem to dominate his entire façade because Harley never gets tired. Never does he show his exhaustion like a true Stark. But this week, Peter knows something is bothering him.

To prove his point, after a particularly bad dream, Peter stays awake well into 3 in the morning before he gives up on sleep and wanders from his room. 

It was strange in this house. Not in a bad way, but in a new way. Instead of expensive cut carpet and marble floors downstairs, there’s freshly painted wood beneath his fluffy-socked feet and a new distant smell of petrichor in the air. It was pleasant and homey, much like the Malibu Mansion, Avengers Tower and Avengers Compound had been. But of course, it’s no different. Because he is living in the year 2023 instead of 2018. Everything has gone by in the blink of an eye for Peter, and he wouldn't admit it, but it has been hard. In a cliché way, home is where his family is. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to settle into this new home without Tony and Harley there. Even May had to move apartments, simply because she said she couldn’t beat the pain of having neither Ben nor Peter in the apartment. 

That is a whole other issue that Peter prefers to avoid. 

Besides this, he quietly made his way through the upstairs hallway. He peered into Morgan’s bedroom and found his little sister blissfully asleep. He requested to Tony that he keeps everyone’s doors open, even though Morgan always had that rule as it was. It didn’t stop him from checking on his dad and Pepper as well, just to confirm assuredly that they were still there. Both seemed to be peacefully asleep. 

When he checked his older brothers room, his heart spiked when he found the bed empty. The room was an abyss. Heck, the bed was still made and not slept in. Before he could further panic himself, he made his way downstairs, using his enhanced vision to watch out for any odd obstacles in the way of his feet. 

He needn't worry for long when he heard the faint beating of Harley's heart. He found that his brother was sitting up on the sofa, staring at nothing in particular. Just not asleep as he should be at ridiculous o’clock in the morning. It was bound to bother Peter.

“Harley?”

He saw the boy jump and Peter had to contain a smile. Even after all of these years, the two brothers never seemed to get used to the fact that they liked to scare each-other. Whether that be on purpose or accidentally. It made Peter feel hollow again, thinking about how everything was before. Neither of these things was him being selfish. He wouldn’t do anything to reverse time, because then he wouldn’t have little Morgan by his side. But he can’t deny to himself that he missed the Avengers Tower. Or the Compound at the very least, which is not being rebuilt, simply because it isn’t needed anymore. Most of the Avengers are doing their jobs someplace else, out in the public eye—everything is more monitored. 

Events of change will continue to shape Peter's life. Some positively, some negatively. 

Only standing at sixteen, and he is beyond exhausted. He just wants to go back to school, ace his tests, show them off to his family, ask out MJ, watch Star Wars and build lego's with Ned and have the usual Saturday dinner dates with his Aunt May. Maybe quarrel with Harley, snuggling with his dad, learning about business work with Pepper and play with Morgan. He doesn’t think any of that is too much to ask for. 

“Are you okay?” Peter sat himself down on the other side of the sofa, not wanting to crowd Harley too much. The boy didn’t seem frustrated. Only … exhausted. 

“Nervous,” the older admitted. Perhaps ‘admitted’ was the wrong word to use. Peter is an observer, and with observing comes seeing through a fake façade of lies. 

“Anything else?” He didn’t want to push it too much. Harley is the type to get irritable if he’s pushed beyond his limits emotionally. All three, Tony, Harley and Peter, have a wall they built around themselves if it means to not cry or burst into any flurry of emotional trauma on anyone but themselves. 

“Can’t seem to sleep.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

There was a hint of a smile from Harley. Most of their relationship comes with loyalty, childish bickering and a common trait to protect each-other. Although they haven’t said a simple ‘I love you’ since they were kids, anyone could tell that they were as close as brothers could he. 

“Don’t tell Dad.”

Peter snorted, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it. He won’t let you leave for MIT and I’ll be stuck with you for another year.”

There was a playful kick to his shin. “As if I want to spend another year with you either.” Playful banter at its best, Peter knew. Especially when Harley scooted over to drag Peter into a side hug. Peter automatically returned it, stretching himself out until his head lay snugly on Harley’s lap. 

“What are you? Five?”

“Love meeee.”

“If you insist.”

And that is what Peter got. In their tired mind-sets, they allowed the moment of peace to pass between them. Harley began to subtly play with Peter’s loose curls, the movements lazy and familiar from when they were kids. 

“What do you think of that Skip guy?” Harley murmurs. 

Peter couldn’t look up at him as he was lying on his side, facing the blank T.V. “He’s alright. Solid dude.”

“You ever say that again I will chuck you off of this couch.”

“I’d tell Dad on you.”

“Yeah, because he would be on your side.”

“You know he would.”

“Until he realises how ridiculous you were being.”

“Toché.” 

“Seriously though, Pete? He doesn’t … give off a creepy vibe?”

Peter frowns, a little taken aback. He hadn't expected Harley to come out with that. Perhaps his brain is going into big brother overdrive, because any older man with a little girl will always look a little dodgy, no matter how differently you look at it. In the underside of your mind, your brain will automatically assume the worst. But for once, Peter hadn’t. 

“Doesn’t your Peter-Tingle tell you anything?”

“It’s called a Spider-Sense. And no. I didn’t see any red flags.” It was true the moment the words left his mouth. Skip was friendly and treated Morgan like any normal babysitter would. He’s good with kids and likes to engage in a more mature conversation with Peter whenever he could. There were no warning signs there. Should he be looking out for any? Harley isn’t one to be dramatic, a trait neither of them have borrowed from Tony. But Harley especially … 

“I guess I should just leave it alone then.”

Peter said nothing, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Can you keep an eye on him for me, Pete?"

It’s all Peter can do to say, “Sure.” After all, his job was to protect his family. 


	2. trauma and war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days' progress and Peter becomes familiar with Skip.

When Harley left for MIT, Skip had come over the next day. He seemed bummed out that Harley couldn’t be there to join them. But he quickly recovered because he seemed happy enough that Peter wasn’t going anywhere. 

Peter entered his new school year fresh-faced and smiling shyly. The news and public thought Tony Stark to be dead. And people knew that Peter was Tony’s Stark’s son. It had become old news by the time half of his freshman year began but he hadn't expected the cascade of sympathetic glances. The worst thing about it is that he had to _lie_ to keep his dad safe. Peter isn’t the best of actors, but he knows what the loss of someone you love is like. 

Flash was leaving him alone since the news of Tony Stark's death came out. He would occasionally throw an insult here and there, but after the death of Iron, Man Flash didn’t call him a name once. 

The boy never per-say bullied him into submission. Peter would consider Flash as somewhat of an ally. The boy teased him and was occasionally outright rude to him, but he was never _mean_. Peter is academically smarter than him. Which humiliates Flash for a reason Peter cannot comprehend. Peter wouldn’t consider him a bully; he just considers him as a bit of an asshole. 

The notion of being at school and away from home had his mind wandering back to Morgan and Skip. Nothing weird happened between the two of them. He kept a close eye on both of them. He made sure to always do his homework downstairs where he could hear/see them. Peter knows that bedrooms are strictly off-limits, mainly because Tony doesn’t like it when people go snooping into rooms that are not theirs.

It wasn’t much of anything at first. A few weeks later, a month gone by with no suspicions, is when things began to change. 

“Hey, Dad—?”

“What is it, Pete?”

Peter stopped by the open glass door. Tony never snapped at him unless Peter was in trouble. Even when Tony was in a bad mood he tried to dial it down a bit when he was clearly in the wrong mindset to speak to anyone. 

The man didn’t look up from a holographic tablet which looked to be filled to the brim with emails. Sometimes Peter forgot how busy his dad can be. It was worse when he was a little boy—the workload still creates a cascade of stress for Tony. Peter wishes (and sometimes tries) that he could make all of Tony’s anxieties and troubles for the days disappear. Even dead, he’s not catching a break. 

Peter didn’t falter from Tony's irritable tone. Instead, he carried on, presenting a big worksheet and pencil in hand. “I-I just need some help. I was wondering whether we—” _could work on it together…_ Was what he meant to say. But Tony again cut him off. 

“Listen, bud, I’m really in the zone right now.” He still had yet to look over at Peter, which the young teen found a little hurtful. “If I could, I would help you. But I just can’t afford to miss this. What does it need to be in?”

“Only next week.” Peter liked doing his homework as early as possible. Sue him. 

“You’ve got plenty of time.” Peter watched as he started a new email response to God-knows who. “Skip will be able to help you. He’s coming round tomorrow.”

It was a little strange, to say the least. Whenever Peter asked for help anytime in the past, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Tony refuse the helpless, childish questions. (Well, for someone as advanced as Peter, they weren’t typical childlike questions). Even when he was really busy, Tony would make the time and place work, immediately putting all of his projects aside. But then Peter realises—

Tony used to stay up all night. If he was lucky, he would get a couple of hours maximum. Nowadays it seems as if Pepper has finally arranged Tony into a nice sleeping schedule. And Peter all of a sudden felt incredibly selfish. It’s just that everything has changed so quickly. (Not for Tony, but Peter). Everyone and everything has changed in the blink of an eye. It’s been a few months now—he should be over it. Sadly, he’s not. 

“Okay…” Peter didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. 

His dad seemed to be in a bad mood all night. He went to bed before Peter, which meant he never said goodnight to him. 

The next day, when Skip came around, everyone seemed to be in a much happier mood. Peter got back from school—or rather, swinging about the city—to find Skip in his usual place on the floor, playing with Morgan. It looked as if they were in the middle of rescue mission because Morgan had a mask of Rescue’s faceplate on her face and Skip had toppled over, pretending to be defeated. When he heard the door open and Peter stepped into the room, he made a face of pure relief.

“Petey-Pie!” 

Peter cringed good-heartedly at the name. He had told Skip to stop calling him that, and the man is making an effort to put an end to it. It’s a name that only Tony has called Peter. As much as he hates the nickname, he can’t bring himself to tell his father that. 

“I need to nip to the restroom.” 

Slip winked at him as he made his way passed the kitchen to the downstairs bathroom. Peter settled himself down in front of his little sister, backpack still attached to his back. 

“Petey!” Morgan removed her faceplate, lurched up and hugged the teen around his shoulders. He hugged back.

“How are you doing, Morguna?” 

The girl leaned back, still sitting comfortably in her big brother’s lap. A hug, toothy smile spread across her face, brown eyes gleaming with joy. “Me and Skip pretended to be Mommy and Thanos.”

Peter made a thinking face, his smirk appearing. “And let me guess … were you the angry grape?”

Morgan burst into giggles, shaking her head. “Don't be silly, Petey. I was Mommy. The good person.” 

“I never would have guessed!” Peter knows that he doesn’t have to dumb-down everything for a girl like Morgan. She’s showing a significant peak of above-average intelligence, much like Harley and Peter had when they were her age. 

“What’s going on down here?” came the amused voice of Skip. 

Peter announced his departure then. He would be back down in a minute once he’s freshened himself up. He had kept by Harley’s word and he doesn’t let Morgan and Skip have alone time together—not if he can help it. Peter is sure there is nothing to worry about—that perhaps Harley was exaggerating.

“Your father told me you were having a decathlon national coming up,” Skip said unexpectedly. 

Peter startled, surprised at the knowledge of this man knowing when he hadn't said a thing about it. “Y-yeah.” He said this as he settled down on the sofa, laptop out and ready to write an essay for English. “Um, it’s next weekend.”

“Already?” Skip passed a puzzle piece to Morgan when she demanded it. “This close to the beginning of school?”

Peter typed his password down, his fingers a little shaken from his anticipation to get this essay done. It was due in two weeks, but he needed to get it done as soon as possible. “We like to get in – uh – e-early.” He pressed enter, waiting for the screen to load. The picture of him, Ned and MJ went blank and was replaced by his typical Star Wars aesthetic wallpaper on his home screen. 

“Asked your dad yet?”

Peter shook his head, loading up his Chrome page. 

“He’s already told me. He can’t make it, I’m afraid, kid.”

Something shattered inside of Peter at that. Such little things can make his chest heavy nowadays. He’s always been over-sensitive, but after the war, he became a little _too_ emotionally distraught for his liking. Perhaps spending all that time in the summer without Tony's work schedule duplicated that clinginess. Even so, Tony has never missed any of his or Harley’s science fairs, parents evenings or nerdy decathlon’s. Even before Afghanistan. Tony made sacrifices when he cancelled meetings and appointments. He could cancel, could he not? No … he’s being too selfish. 

“O-oh…” Peter didn’t look up from the screen as he typed in his school email and password to log on. Nor did he when he pulled up another tab to look at the assignment they had been set. 

“I could always come?”

Again, Peter was startled. Not in a bad way. Just generally surprised. “What about Morgan?” he said. His eyes wandered over the book they are to write on _Animal Farm_ by George Orwell _._ A book Peter had read quite some time ago. He had no issue reading it again; he quite enjoyed it. 

“Already checked. Happy is completely happy with babysitting over the weekend. Your father’s got a meeting Saturday evening, one early Sunday morning and one again in the afternoon.”

Peter thought back to what Harley had told him; how Skip seemed… strange. Creepy was what Harley used to describe the man. Peter isn’t one to judge too hard, and he still couldn't admittedly point out anything… _creepy_ about the man. But he was rather _strange,_ to say the least. Much stranger than that Doctor Strange guy he had met. Maybe he was just an odd guy and wanted to give the facility some support. After all, he was giving up all of his free hours to take care of Morgan. Tony had told him that Skip was a close work friend, one they trust enough to keep the information of Tony being alive. 

Even so, Peter hardly knew Skip. He didn’t feel comfortable with the man’s suggestion of coming with him. But if it stopped him from staying with Morgan by themselves, then he will make that tribute.

“You sure you’re up to this?” said Peter. He looked back up from his laptop. His eyes met Skip’s cold ones. “I mean, it’s a place full of teenagers… being nerds as such…” He doesn’t know why he is embarrassed that a grown-up is taking an interest in his work. It isn’t as if Skip was as old as his dad. He was young, had a great job at Stark Industries and was good with kids. Peter didn’t dislike them. If he looked passed what Harley had told him, then he would go as far as to say he considered Skip a friend. 

Skip’s laugh tore him from his daze. “You’re funny, Einstein.” Peter blushed and looked back down to his assignment. “I really do not mind. Besides, it’ll be fun, right?”

“Uh-um, yeah. Yeah, of course.” Peter laughed to himself. “Just a little sad that Dad couldn’t come.”

“I’ll come to your contest, Petey!” announced Morgan. She had the biggest grin on her face. Her right front tooth was gone, having fallen out the week before. Peter had the honour of placing a dollar under her pillow. “Can I come, Skip?” She looked up at the man. He smiled and reached down, grabbing her sides and tickled her vigorously as she let out squeals of joy. 

“I’m afraid not, you little monster.”

“I’m not a monster! You are!” 

Peter never seemed to fail a smile whenever Morgan was laughing. It was contagious. 

“Tony told me you had a worksheet. You want me to help you with that?”

It is safe to say that Peter was not expecting that. But he ended up quitting the assignment he never started and brought down his Chemistry homework. It was difficult to catch up with the school system that changed after five years. They continue to learn the same things, but in a different style than what they are used to. Peter may be a little Tony Stark Jr. when it came to working academically, but his brain has taken a while to catch up to the shock once he was—as his school dubbed it—Blipped back to life. Pepper told him it was the aftermath of the war as well because Harley seemed mostly fine. Tony told him a therapist would be an option, but after that was mentioned, Peter hadn't spoken of it since. 

“State the relative charge and relative mass of a proton, a neutron and an electron ... In terms of particles, explain the relationship between two isotopes…” Peter trailed off to break out in a sigh. They were currently at the dining room table. Morgan was happy enough to sit opposite them, colouring in one of her books, tongue stuck out in concentration. 

They have been at this worksheet for almost twenty minutes now. Normally, Peter would have no trouble with flying through his homework in less time. But as of late, he has been unable to concentrate. Karen had told him his reaction time is 0.2 times slower than it should be. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Skip was pressed quite close to him, shoulder to shoulder. “Do you wanna take a break?”

“N-no, I can do this—just a little tired.” He rubbed at his eyes and then picked his pencil back up, looking over the question again. He read it about two to three times before his hand started writing anything down. 

“Wait-wait-wait!” Skip stopped him from placing his last sentence. “Remember, isotopes have the same electronic configuration or the same number of electrons. As—”

“Chemical properties depend on electrons.” Peter nodded on as he finished the last statement. Peter allowed himself to fall back into the chair, sighing out in relief. “Thank God that’s over."

“If you ever need any more help, I’m always here, Einstein.” Skip winked at him again.

“I don’t feel very intelligent at the moment so maybe you should depart from that name.”

Skip nudged him. His eyes renewed to roam up and down Peter’s body. Peter swallowed uncomfortably and looked away. “Don’t think too much about it. Get an early night tonight, okay? I’m in charge of this evening.”

Peter gave him a funny look. “Okay… I don’t happen to have a bedtime.” This is half a lie. He has a curfew, but not a bedtime. He needs to always be back by 11 p.m. otherwise Tony will be on his ass about it for the rest of the week. “Dad checks on me at about midnight before he goes to sleep.”

“Tony’s not gonna be back until after that. Pepper’s in Manhattan at the moment. I’ll be here for a while.”

In truth, Tony and Pepper have had a lot of work to do this week. Next week they will be fine—no Skip needed. Until the weekend… If Skip told Peter he could get Happy to babysit… _hold on._

“Hey, maybe my Aunt May can look after Morgan for the weekend?” he said quietly. “Th-the weekend of my Decathlon, um - um, she’s on Morgan's list of guardians.” All Peter knew was that May was there a lot at the time of Morgan’s early years. She helped Pepper with caring for the baby as she has had plenty of practice with her time at the hospital. And Morgan loved spending the weekend at the ~~new~~ apartment. 

“I’ll talk to your Dad when he gets back home.”

Peter ended with hyping Morgan up when it came to the evening time. Skip had scolded him, which only caused his cheeks to burn with humiliation. 

“Can you give Morgan a bath?” Skip called from the kitchen. He was busy cleaning the food away. It was nearing 8 o’clock and it was past Morgan’s bedtime. Peter was two-thousand words into his essay when Skip requested his help.

“Sure!” He saved his progress, eyes stinging from the brightness of the screen and put his laptop to sleep. He looked over at Morgan who was still busy colouring, but this time with her little body leaned over the coffee table. “Morguna? Could you tidy up, please?”

Her shoulders slumped but she didn’t argue. In a natural Pepper Potts-fashion, Morgan put everything away neatly, lining up her colours in rainbow order and put everything else into her crafts box.

“Thank you, Mongoose.” Peter lifted her from the ground and she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest. “You feeling alright?”

She nodded but didn’t elaborate. 

He runs her bath, making sure it was the right temperature she wanted and filled it with lavender bubbles.

“You call me when you need help, okay?” Peter said, watching as his little sister played with two rubber ducks. She had told him the brown one with huge anime eyes looked like him. He doesn’t know whether to be offended or not. “Let me know when you want me to wash your hair.”

“Yup,” she said, not looking back at him. Peter nodded and turned away, planning on sitting outside of the room for when she called him. He left the door partially open, aware that if she ended up hurting herself he would be there right away.

It wasn’t long until he had to wash her hair. She was being more quiet than usual today and Peter didn’t know what to think of it. Earlier she was her normal self—giggling and squealing to her heart’s content. It wasn’t until Peter tucked her into bed did she say something.

“I miss Mommy and Daddy.”

Peter smiled sadly at her. She had seen them this morning. But this week had been hectic for her parents. She hasn’t been able to have dinner with them in a while. "I do too, Bubby.” He reached over and soothed her fringe from her face, allowing him to see her eyes—both of them were blessed with Tony’s own big brown eyes. Innocent and puppy-like. When they swam with tears, it was hard not to give in. Hence why when Peter saw tears threatening to fall from his baby sisters eyes, he quickly placed his hands under her armpits, pulled her from her covers and sat her in his lap whilst he hushed her. 

“When are they coming home?” 

Peter swallowed, hugging Morgan tighter to his chest. Pepper was in a similar position earlier this week when Morgan had declared she missed Harley. Pepper had phoned Harley and Morgan had a lovely ten-minute long conversation with her oldest brother. He couldn't provide her with Pepper and Tony’s numbers. But perhaps having a brief conversation with Harley will send her to sleep.

“Hey, Morguna?”

“Hmm?”

“Want me to phone Harley?”

She looked up from his chest and nodded, biting her fingernails. Peter scolded her, pulling them away from her mouth as he dug for his phone in his back pocket. The I.D. name showed **_t_ _he forgotten child_** and the most unflattering picture of Harley he has. Peter’s name and picture on Harley’s phone is no better. He pressed call, his other arm wrapped around his little sister, letting her slump against his body.

There were a few rings before—

_“Arhhh, what do you want?”_

“Hello, Harley, nice to talk to you too.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

_“Yeah, I'm fine. You doing alright?”_

“Yeah, I’m fine. I got a little munchkin here who wishes to speak to you.” He handed the phone to Morgan and she eagerly pressed it to her ear, already babbling away to Harley. Peter gladly sat back, holding her until they finished talking. 

“Goodnight, Harley.” Morgan gave the phone back to Peter. She remained in his lap as he said another hello to his brother.

_“In all honesty, are you okay, Pete?”_ Harley’s voice was a little muffled on the other side of the phone. Peter frowned, checking the reception on his phone. StarkPhone’s don’t have trouble connecting to servers as such, so it shouldn't be a major problem. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. How’s MIT?”

_“All good. My roommates a slob.”_

“No different to you, then.”

_“You’re not very nice to me.”_

“I could say the same thing about you.”

They continued to talk back and forth whilst Peter put his skills of multitasking to work by tucking Morgan into bed, kissing her forehead and switching off the main light. He tells her that Mommy and Daddy will be in to say goodnight to her soon. Morgan seems to be content with that, but she is a clever girl. She knows very well of the little white lie that her brother has just told her. Peter feels terrible when he lies to her. However, it saves him from Morgan throwing a fit for her parents. Not that she does that a lot. As well as being clever, she behaves herself. A lot more than Harley and Peter ever did when they were little boys. He will give her the benefit of the doubt. 

“How is Skip?”

Peter paused mid-shutting his laptop down. He doesn’t think he can stomach any more writing for tonight. He is hoping to bunk this essay up to 5k words. He may not be halfway through, but he’s got a week. He can easily get it done by then. After all, it is also on a book he happens to enjoy. May had always told him that if an assignment is based on a book he enjoys, it is more bearable to get through. And _Animal Farm_ is a book he read when he was younger, intrigued and fascinated by the fable reflects that lead up to the Russian Revolution in 1917. Perhaps he should study more about history.

_“Peter?”_

The teen jumped at his brother's voice. His laptop blinked black at him as he shut the lid and placed it on his desk. 

“Sorry—I got you. Just …” Peter pulled his bottom lip by his two front teeth. _How is Skip?_ _As a matter of fact, Harls, he’s doing just fine._ Peter isn’t about to give Harley a sarcastic reply. If there is one thing his older brother is serious about, then that is a babysitter who gives him the creeps. But from what Peter picked up this afternoon, his Spider-Sense blatantly ignored the vibes.

Simply because there wasn’t anything _to_ detect. 

“There’s nothing that’s gone on, Harls,” Peter replies after a moment. He places his phone down and puts it on loudspeaker, searching through his drawers for some pyjamas to put on after he’s had a shower. “I think you’re overreacting.”

_“Do you not care for Morgan’s well-being?”_

Peter wouldn’t have snapped at him if the older boy didn’t sound so serious. “Of _course_ I do, and you know that you _prick.”_

There was a sigh and some shuffling from Harley’s side. _“Look,”_ he started, _“I’m not searching for a fight—”_

“Good day to you then. Cos’ neither am I.” Peter rolled his eyes. He should have said goodbye to Harley when he had the chance. The comment just made him angry, otherwise, he would be okay. But his brother is being melodramatic. Supposing someone had to take over whilst Tony is constantly taking up the time to be in meetings rather than… Peter stopped himself for thinking of such a thing. He knows that his dad is in meeting after meeting for a reason; after the war fiasco? Not his fault. And Peter shouldn’t be so selfish. Morgan has more of a right to complain, yet she has hardly done any. 

“I’m sorry…” he said shamefully. He plopped himself on the corner of his bed, looking over at his desk where his phone still lay. “Just… you know I would do anything for Morgan. And I would for you too.”

_“I know, Pete…”_ came Harley’s soft response. _“I’m sorry for suggesting such a thing. I’m... just worried, okay? I think I’d feel a lot more comfortable leaving Morgan with May. Or—remember Old Nana?”_

Peter laughed good-heartedly at that. Of course, he remembered Old Nana. Little old lady, patient and sweet with Harley and Peter when they were barely two feet tall. She was an old family friend of Pepper and Tony hired her to babysit them when he was away on business meetings. Alas, she passed away when Peter was ten-years-old. 

“She was sweet,” said Peter. 

_“Exactly. Call me sexist but I would feel more comfortable if a woman was taking care of Baby Stark. An older one at that.”_

“Some older women can be scary. My elementary school teacher threatened to kill us if we didn’t clean up all of the play-doh in under five minutes.”

Peter could see the eye-roll from Harley after that confession. _“She was nuts, then. But… yeah. I’m sorry for pushing this all on you. Just remember—”_

“To look after her.” Peter stood up, reaching for his phone and deactivating loudspeaker so the phone was pressed to his ear. “I know, Harley. And I will.”

_“Thank you, little Stark.”_

Peter groaned. “Stop putting Stark at the end of everything. It’s so damn annoying.”

_“Baaby Shark do-do-do—”_

“Right! Alright! I’m hanging up now! Have fun with that song!” Peter heard Harley's final break of laughter and giggled a goodbye before he hung up. He does miss Harley, and it hasn’t even been a month yet.

*****

“Thank you so much again.” Tony waved to Skip as the young man made his way to his car. 

“It's no problem. When is the next time you need me?”

“Next week isn’t going to be as hectic apart from the weekends. But I’m right in saying that May is taking over babysitting duties?” 

“Peter suggested it. I’d thank him.”

“Is Peter staying with May as well?”

He saw Skip nod as the man opened his car door. It was a nice black, shiny Audi that Tony himself gifted him a year ago. It remained with barely any scratches, tires pumped and rich with expensive gleam. 

“You won’t have to worry about your children, Mr Stark.”

“Thank you, Skip. I will see you soon, then.”

“Have a good one, sir.”

“You too.”

Tony watched as Skip drove away before making his way back into the house. It was nearly 1 a.m. He needed to get to sleep, but before that, he had some paperwork to get through. He didn’t want to get back to his old sleeping habits, but it has become a bit of a problem over the past couple of weeks. It reminded him of before the Snap; how he would stay up all night to tinker. Not even to do paperwork. The whole shebang was a little more than ridiculous. But the best part about this is that he has Morgan, Peter and Harley under lock-down for any potential threat—he knows they are well guarded with a shield of force. 

He set the scene with some strong, bitter coffee at the dining table, placed his glasses over his eyes and turned on his holographic tablet. His right hand and arm, in general, are still giving him shit. At first, he believed no amount of physical therapy for his hands would help. But he can hold a pen now. Granted his handwriting looks like it had been gentle forced through a blender but he was getting there. Other than that, the tablets allowed him to use his left hand more substantially, giving him an easier time on the paperwork.

Half an hour in and two coffee’s later, the creek of the floorboards underneath him nearly sent him flying from his chair. 

“Dad?” came Peter’s quiet and raspy voice. He sounds as if he had just woken up. When Tony looked up, he found that Peter’s eyes were wide and awake. His hair, clearly showered, was not a mess, curls draped across his forehead hazardly. 

“You alright, bambino?” Tony said once he caught his breath. 

“Yeah,” Peter answered nonchalantly. “Couldn’t sleep. What are you working on?”

“Paperwork,” Tony grumbled. “Nothing you would find interesting.” He watched as his son came over, a little ungracefully on his feet from sleep deprivation. He sat down next to Tony, arms crossed over the table and head resting in them. “You okay?” Tony reached over and soothed back one of Peter’s curls. “You wanna talk about it?” They hadn’t talked that much of the war itself. Nor what happened on Titan for that matter. 

“Uhh, no thanks, Dad.” He said it sincerely. He once subtly admitted that it was one of the reasons he couldn’t sleep. And Tony appreciates that much. All in time for trauma and war—Tony has yet to admit the nightmares that seemed to plague him every other night. “Just … just wanted to see you.” There was a light blush on his son's cheeks and Tony couldn’t help but reach out and sooth his thumb over his boy’s cheek, giving Peter a small smile.

“You can stay here for a while. But as said, it’s not very exciting. You’ll find more pleasure going to sleep.”

And Tony didn’t object to his son staying by his side. Even when they were not talking, the presence is sweet and comforting; knowing Peter is right there with him instead of his ashes lying on the ground of a foreign planet will forever sustain him.

It wasn’t long before Tony looked to his side and found his youngest son fast asleep. And because Tony isn’t heartless, he decides to call it a night and clear up. After the lights are all off, he at first struggles to lift Peter into his arms. His right arm barely works, but he is stubborn, and if he can lift Morgan, then he can lift his teenage son. 

He’s wrong. He is _so_ wrong.

Tony nearly stumbled when he managed to fit both his hands under Peter’s armpits and lift him. After all, Peter is only a couple of inches shy of his old man—they weigh the same amount at most. Peter also has a metabolism faster than Tony can handle, so the kid eats a lot. Not that he is judging. He is only complaining now because he hasn’t carried Peter like this since he was a little kid. 

However, as Tony nearly fell face-first to the floor from the weight on his paralysed arm, in his sleep, Peter subconsciously leaned into Tony, wrapping his legs around his waist and stuck his palms to Tony’s shirt-clad back. It helped balance them out and Tony murmured a thank you to his sleeping son before making his way upstairs. 

Once he made it to the room, Tony tried detaching himself from Peter’s grip. To no avail. 

“Pete?” Tony’s voice was muffled by the curls in his face. “Can you wake up for me, Bambi?”

“Mmm, no.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Tony chuckled when he felt Peter finally release his grip on his back and fall back against the bed. He watched as Peter manoeuvred himself so he settled himself under the covers. As soon as he was nicely snuggled into his queen size bed, Tony sat down beside him, looking down at Peter with a small smile on his face. He reached over and moved his son’s fringe from his eyes. “I’m sorry for being away a lot.” He knows how to say these things to his children. Even to Morgan, who wouldn’t fully understand the weight of his words. He never said it enough to Harley and Peter when they were little. He needs to be better. 

Peter sighed, but not sadly. Nor in disappointment. Tony didn’t miss the eye roll at the oldest Stark’s silly insecurity. “‘S’not your fault. We understand.”

Peter is sweet. He is so stupidly kind and _sweet_ and maybe a little bit of a pushover. But he’s Tony’s and Mary’s son. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Tony smiled and leaned down, brushing the last of Peter’s curls from his forehead and pressed a kiss to his warm skin. “Get some sleep, baby. I love you.” He pressed one more kiss to his kid's forehead, lingering there for a moment before he got ahold of himself and stood up.

“I love you too, Dad.”

Tony let himself smirk at that as he switched off Peter’s lamp light by his desk. It didn’t plunge them into darkness as expected. Peter had a night-light which cast a soft, yellow glow by his bed.

He closed the door and allowed himself to breathe before checking on Morgan for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ... i made an irondad + lion king parallel - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=394Fi-qgtUI
> 
> you can enjoy it if you want :)


	3. rules of neglect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter arrives at Washington D.C. What inconvenience for his Spider-Senes to begin rattling him of oncoming danger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kudos / comments / bookmarks :)
> 
> they mean a ton <33

Over the past week, Skip has been able to make an impression for Peter. To the point where he had completely ignored the question at hand for Harley; Please Keep An Eye On Him. He’s still keeping a close eye on his little sister. But the thought itself made him a little sick. Because he likes Skip. He’s nice and kind and helps Peter whenever he requires it. He doesn’t see anything remotely weird between Morgan and Skip, and he is certain he never will. It may not be how his Spider-Sense works, but he can sense danger even without it. Instincts that Harley claims to hold over Skip are an automatic fight-or-flight response the body withholds. 

For this entire week, it feels as if Tony and Pepper have been gone. Peter doesn’t know what to do with himself other than hang out as Spider-Man, go home and help Skip with Morgan, do his homework and settle in for the night. There was only one night that both Pepper and Tony were home. They spent the whole afternoon with Morgan. Tony gave him a small kiss to his forehead when Peter came home and a sweet goodnight from both guardians before he went to bed. All of them had sat down at dinner and called Harley who was in the middle of building a new engineering project with his partner in one of the robotic labs. It was a great night, and Peter went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Thursday night, before his trip to D.C., Skip came into his room. This was unusual. He would bid Skip goodnight around about 10 p.m. and spend the next few hours awake when he should be asleep—whether that be finishing homework or to platinum a game on his PS5.

This time, he managed to settle down at midnight, readying himself into his pyjamas when Skip walked in. No knock or anything, which should have been a red flag. Peter ignored it. 

“Whoa!” Peter quickly pulled his buttoned pyjama shirt down, flushing when he was sure half of his torso was exposed. He sent a glare towards the man who didn’t seem to react to the half-crazed state the teen was in. “Please, Skip, can you knock next time?” He didn’t try to hide the frustration in his voice. “What’s up?” he said suddenly, seeing how the man still hadn’t said anything—not even a _freaking_ apology. “Is Morgan okay?”

Skip seemed to snap out of his trance and shook his head. Now that charismatic smile was back. Peter watched as the man closed the door behind them.

“Morgan’s fine, Einstein,” said Skip, waving off Peter’s concern. He made himself comfortable at Peter’s desk chair as the teen sat at the end of his bed, watching the man with every move. With the way he moved around the room—not even a glance to the posters and decorated materials around Peter’s little persona—it made a strange scene as if Skip had already seen this room before. Which shouldn’t be possible? Peter doesn’t keep a lock on his door, never finding a reason to. He liked having his door open. His family surround the household and he had F.R.I.D.A.Y. monitoring any sudden danger ahead of them. Safe is what he is. “Just felt as if we should talk.”

Peter pulled his legs up onto the bed and crossed them. His fingers played with a loss string around his ankle. “Ohhkaayy…” He said with raised eyebrows. He looked down at his pyjamas, watching as his fingers pulled on the string. He would have thought with it being past 10 o'clock Skip would know that Peter was preparing himself for bed. It wasn't as if the teen had a routine. He preferred to keep a steady schedule, knowing he could count down the amount of time he had until Tony said he would be home. Then (and only then) he could sleep blissfully. 

If he wasn’t so polite he would have chucked the man out of his room. He’s exhausted and wanted to get as much sleep as possible to prepare for the weekend. He didn’t dwell on his obvious insomnia problems as much as he should; some nights he’s okay with sleeping at midnight until 6:30 a.m. Other nights he can’t sleep until about 3 to 4 a.m., still waking up early. Rarely he has a bad dream and doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He doubts any of that will happen while he’s away. Nothing he can’t handle at the moment. Titan and the war itself was months ago. He needn’t have Tony by his side, stroking his hair from his face and singing to him until he falls asleep. The last time he had sung to him was after the building collapsed on him nearly a couple of years ago now (or more like six to seven years ago). Even then, Peter felt embarrassed that he still relied on Tony for comfort that a fifteen-year-old should be capable f handling on his own at that point. 

“I want you to know that on that Saturday I will be there cheering for you,” Skip began in a soothing voice. 

_I’m not a child,_ Peter wanted to snap. But he held it back. 

“I’m telling you this now because I won’t see you before your competition. Just take some words of advice from me.” 

_I’ve already had some from my dad for years, mate. And I’d rather it be him telling me this…_

“No pressure, alright?” Skip winked at him. Peter managed a half-smile, half-chuckle at that. “Don’t press that damn button too quickly. And think. Use that big brain of yours, alright? And even if you lose, no one will care. And you shouldn’t either. All that matters is having fun up there.”

Despite his dying and tedious state of the pointless conversation, he felt his lips tug upwards. If he could just imagine them being Tony’s words, then he would be okay. 

“I will Skip.” He finally looked up and gave a goofy smile. He was tired, okay? For once he wanted to go to sleep, and that’s a rarity for him. “I’ll do my best. And I will have fun.” 

He almost flinched back when Skip leaned over and ruffled his hair. _That’s something my Dad and brother does…_ Call him selfish, but that position remains to his family only. Maybe from time to time, Aunt May will muse with his hair… _Does it matter, Peter?_ No. He’s being petty because he misses his dad. He’s sixteen-years-old, so he shouldn’t be acting like this. 

“Goodnight, Einstein.” The man closed the door. Before he did so, his gaze lingered on Peter a little longer than necessary before the door closed and Peter could relax.

Peter fell backwards when the door shut. He sighed irritably, his mental stability straining from the weekend that has yet to begin. Being with Skip isn’t even part of the job. The man isn’t spending the weekend in the hotel with them. He’s going to show up to the contest and cheer Peter on. Afterwards, he will talk to him and then the man will go back home again. Whenever Tony came along he would allow Peter to go back to a much more luxurious hotel and they would spend the entire night talking about random shit until one of them (most likely Peter) would fall asleep. He doesn’t even know why Skip is bothering to come. Either way, he supposes he should appreciate the gesture. And he does. He does. 

He fell asleep like that—curled in on himself, lamp by his desk still on. He was a little cold from his open window, no doubt attracting all sorts of horrid insects inside of his room. Luckily for him, when he woke up to his alarm at 5:30 a.m., he found no spider on his bed that would scare the undying shit out of him. 

“Morning, Bambi."

Peter yelped, nearly spilling the milk he retrieved from the fridge and sparing his dad a glower before carrying on with his normal morning routine. 

“You have an early meeting this morning?” said Peter, pouring his coco pops into the bowl before the milk. He is not prone to putting the milk in first. He once caught Ned committing to such a sin… he isn’t sure whether he can fully trust his friend ever again. 

“Nope. Not one at all today.” _If only it was tomorrow,_ Peter selfishly thought. “Thought I might drive you to school this morning. After all, you’re gonna be gone all weekend.”

Peter smiled and rolled his eyes, a little perplexed that Tony would devote himself to spend some time with Peter. Tony is shown to be protective of his children. But risking his sleep? There must be something going on here. Peter smiled more at the lone thought. 

“Could you give me some, kid?” Tony gestured to the milk he was about to put back in the fridge. 

“Not your normal coffee, Dad?” Peter said, extracting the cap again, obeying to Tony's wishes. 

“No. Have no meetings. Need to treat myself.”

Peter poured the rest and finally put the milk back in the fridge. “Treat yourself with milk? That’s normally an evening thing.” Milk has always been a placebo for Peter when he’s had trouble sleeping; Morgan tends t keep to milk before bed as well. Harley never did. He prefers his freshly poured water on his bedside table at all times during the night. 

“No. I can’t be bothered to make myself some coffee. And I feel evil making you do it.” Tony smirked at Peter as the teen sat down opposite him after giving him his glass of milk. The milk itself within Peter’s bowl is turning a soft brown colour form the chocolate cereal. Pepper had exceedingly disapproved for such an unhealthy cereal option, but Tony insisted with Peter’s insane metabolism and Pepper gave in to Peter _and_ Morgan’s puppy-dog eyes. Peter personally believed he does the puppy look a lot better, but because Morgan is younger—and sinfully cuter with youth—he gives up his prize for guilt-tripping Tony and Pepper. Harley never quite perfected it because he had blue eyes, and Peter had his fair share of poking fun at getting his way with Tony more than the older boy could. 

Thinking of which, he promised to phone Harley before nationals. He didn’t know whether he could come or not. Peter is hoping he can. 

“Even after all of this time, you refuse to eat any real breakfast?” 

“Excuse me, who was the one who used to constantly make me eat breakfast, lunch and dinner whenever they saw an opportunity?” Tony’s playful glare was all that was needed to confirm the answer. Both Peter and Harley used to make sure Tony ate because he would spend hours not eating—simply because he would forget. Not because he didn’t want to. His brilliant mind was always so absorbed into work that the mind he calls oh-so brilliant forgets one of the most important necessities of keeping yourself alive. Peter can relate, but with his DNA, he needs to eat. Harley, however, must be worse than Tony. Peter cannot count the amount of times Harley has been ill simply because he hasn’t been looking after himself. Peter easily falls into the role of doctor whenever Harley or Tony was exhausted to the bone after a hard day of work. 

When they were done with breakfast—with Peter’s _real_ breakfast—they set off getting ready. Peter checked on Morgan—still fast asleep, arms curled around a ratty old teddy which Peter believed used to be Harley's—then took a quick five-minute shower to rid of yesterday’s dirt. 

By the time it had reached 6:30 a.m., Tony was ready with his keys to take Peter to school. 

“You alright, Underoos? Looking a little shallow there.” Tony’s hand came to his shoulder, leading him to the car like a lost puppy. Peter didn’t have the heart to shove off the comforting and supportive hand of his dad. 

“Yup,” said Peter. His ears were ringing in time with the birds chirping their morning calls. His senses were not dialled to 11 today, but something tells him he’s going to be having one of those days quite soon. He just hopes this weekend will pass by with worries of his senses not being overbearing. 

They climbed into the car. Tony immediately put the heating on as Peter placed his backpack on the back seat, relaxing back into the comfy seats of the car. 

“Your senses okay?”

It isn't often Tony can read into Peter like an open book. Peter tends to keep his emotions in check. The same can be said for Harley who was almost impossible to read. In a situation like this, Tony can only assume the worst when Peter has a red hue to his sclera and cracked lips with evidence of persistent chewing.

When his dad found out about the dialled 11, he promptly made special sound-proofing headphones for Peter and shades that block out any unwanted bright lights. He also brought his son many soft blankets, creating a make-shift nest in the corner of his room in the Tower and Compound. He currently has one in his room, which he hasn’t had to use yet. The best part about the nest is that it is great for hibernation season. A habit Tony and Pepper and May have been trying to break for the last couple of years since his DNA became that of mutants. He will never forget the time Harley had found him at the back of his wardrobe, draped in Harley’s clothes and buried under mountains of his blankets. It isn’t as if he hibernates for long; it has stretched as far as to 24 hours do far.

Peter looked over at Tony, his eyes already and head buzzing. “Yeah. No need to worry about it.”

“Well, you tell me if they dial-up, alright, kid?”

Peter let his gaze wander to the window, tiredly blinding at the passing trees. “I will, Dad.”

*****

By the time he had awoken, they were five minutes away from his school. Peter blinked warily, gathering his surroundings. Tony was humming softly to a song quietly playing on the radio. 

“You alright, baby?”

Peter sighed, stretching his arms as far as the would go in a car. “Yeah.”

“Don’t wear yourself out too much this weekend, kid.” He pulled up to the front of the school as Happy used to do. Peter had a strange sense of longing. He’s been making his way to school since the Blip, which means he doesn’t see Happy as much as he wishes. But he knows driving a couple of hours to get back to school every morning would put a strain on the man. Besides, he spent most of his time in Queens now… For whatever reason, Peter wishes not to know… 

Peter retrieved his backpack and Tony leaned over, placing a soft kiss to his hair. Peter leaned into the gentle touch, savouring every last second as if Peter were doing a Harley and flying away from home for the first time. But he felt safe with Tony. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt safer with anyone else in his entire life. 

The little moment ended and Peter smiled goofily. “See ya, Dad. I love you.” He opened the car door, watching as Tony leaned over the seat, watching Peter with careful eyes 

“I love you too, baby,” the man said, placing the gear stick in first gear. Peter took that as his queue to start shutting the door. “Have fun with May.” Before Peter could think of asking what the hell his dad was talking about, the door had shut and the man drove off. He remembers a couple of years ago

_(more than five, peter, more than five!)_

when Flash just would not leave him alone and Tony or Happy had purposely not driven away until they saw Peter safely enter the building. After Happy had caught Flash in the act of tripping him over, there was a huge backlash for the kid, and ever since then, Flash had been especially careful when he teased Peter.

He made his way into the building, still wracking his brain at what Tony had said; what the hell had his dad been talking about? _Have fun at May’s?_ He knows Peter is spending the weekend in DC… doesn’t he? Peter shakes his head. He’s not naïve. Tony doesn’t know that Peter is going to DC. Someone told him differently—that he’s going to May’s for the weekend. The only other people who know of his departure for D.C. is Harley and Skip... Haley wouldn't do such a thing. Skip, however, he barely knows -

“You ready for nationals?” 

Peter jumped when MJ was suddenly beside him. He blushed, casting his gaze away from the girl. He was a sucker for crushes. And MJ is no exception. But did he always have to crush on people taller than him? Liz was taller than him, and most likely still is. And MJ is taller than him as well. As if that’s ever going to change. Harley is tall. So why can’t he be? Oh right. His dad is a little shy of tall as well. Damn Stark genes… 

“Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be.” It came out with not as much enthusiasm as he would like. But despite everything that is happening with the future events of the weekend, Peter cannot help but feel the dread settling in his chest at the fact that Tony didn’t know he was going to be in D.C. And something tells him he shouldn’t tell his dad. After all, he’s a busy man. And he doesn’t need to have Peter on his case every damn day. Knowing that Peter is safe with May is good enough. 

The rest of the day went by eventfully. The team were not staying the full day at school, preferably getting an early start to Washington. They didn’t want to arrive at a time where it was too late to do anything but collapse into their hotel room beds. 

MJ was planning on battling their brains the entire trip to D.C… so that is about five hours of constant shouting, screaming, a bit of crying and napping. In Peter’s case, he would prefer to nap. His senses have only heightened since this morning. Something just doesn’t feel right. But because he can’t nap, he will be metaphorically crying whilst hopefully playing all of the questions right that MJ throws their way right. 

“Got Spider-Man with you?” asked Ned as they lined up at the bus, waiting for Mr Harrigington to arrive and count heads. 

“Nope,” said Peter. “I’m not risking what happened last time.”

Ned raised his eyebrow at his friend. “Dude, you saved us last time.” 

“Yeah,” Peter said it like it was the most obvious answer. “It looked a little suspicious that Spider-Man—whom _patently_ resides in Queens, might I add, not Manhattan—was at Washington D.C. coincidently when that elevator thing happened. I’m surprised no one worked it out.” Peter is more than a little anxious to go out as Spider-Man as it was. When he first got bitten and tested out his new abilities, he made sure he was 1). away from Manhattan to avoid his dad finding out, 2). protecting Queens simply because his Aunt and Ned lived there, and 3). for Ben dying in the very streets of Queens as his blood painted Peter’s hands red. It is no secret that he lived in Manhattan in the Avengers Tower, so no one could have worked out he was Spider-Man. But when Spider-Man suddenly crashed their field trip, things will start to look a little suspicious. 

“Pretty sure MJ knows.”

And… that is Ned ruining the moment _and_ Peter’s confidence in no one else knowing. 

“Thanks, Ned.” The other boy must have noticed Peter’s tension and immediately moved onto the subject of Spider-Man to Star Wars. Some of which Peter could pay attention to. Some of which he couldn’t because his damn ears were still buzzing. Perhaps he was just getting sick? He was naïve enough to believe that the spider bite cleansed his immune system from nada to pristine. However, he still gets sick. His immune system definitely cleared up its act of just not working, and now it has improved tremendously, but he still gets the off cold and fever here and there. 

“Alright, everyone ready?”

Peter snapped out of his thoughts upon hearing Mr Harrington’s voice. Everyone seemed to be here as well. Peter never noticed. 

As they piled onto the bus, MJ almost immediately set them to work. No one complained. No one wanted to lose. It wasn’t as if a school like them were prone to losing. It was a school in Queens meant for students who had a higher IQ than others. And there was no shame to that. Peter felt a little bad when he left middle school. He met Ned in middle school, and they were the only two to completely swap schools, having gotten into Midtown. A lot of the people who had applied there and hadn’t gotten in had whole-heartedly glared at him, which made Peter feel like shit whilst he got teased by Harley (seeing as he also went to Midtown, and subtly protected his little brother from people meaning to bully another Stark kid) and praised by his dad. It wasn’t all bad. 

_“Peter.”_

MJ’s voice was stern. But she didn’t snap. Most others she would snap at. This only feeds into Peter’s ego of her liking Peter as much as he likes her. 

“Pay attention. I don’t need you falling asleep tomorrow, alright?” MJ didn’t smile at him. But there was a small hint of smugness behind her eyes. Peter blushed and nodded at her before fully avoiding her intense gaze. 

“You have plenty of time to stare at MJ after nationals,” Ned all but whispered. Peter sunk further into his seat, but it seemed as if no one had heard of cared of what Ned had confessed. It took every ounce of Peter to not open the window of the bus and lob himself onto the road to his immediate death. (Sense the exaggeration?). 

At one point, Peter is sure he fell asleep. Because the next thing he knew, he was being kicked awake by Flash.

“C’mon, Parker; up and at’em.” 

Peter glared at the boy, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder and following everyone off of the bus. He didn’t get glared at by MJ on the way out, mainly because taking a one hour nap out of five isn’t that bad. She has been working them to the bone these past couple of weeks. They would have had a national before the summer holidays, but after the Blip, they were more than a bit unorganised. Hence why they started a couple of weeks once the term began to refresh their brain's. 

On their descend up the stairs of the hotel, Peter’s phone flashed and chimed. He looked down, ignoring the text that had just come through from Skip. 

**s** **kip:** _Did you get to DC alright?_

He’d reply to it once he and Ned are settled into their hotel rooms. He was bemused—Skip had timed their journey to D.C. from Queens. _He’s worried,_

“Right, Ned, Peter, here’s your keys.” Mr Harrington handed them their card to get into their room. “We’ll be meeting in the lobby in half an hour to grab some food. Please don’t be too long.”

Ned immediately dibbed the bed by the right wall as his. Peter had no problem with this. He settled his bag down, falling backwards and closing his eyes. He felt drained. Not to mention, but his ears were still ringing; there was a certain band of tightness in his chest now that he was here—a compressed sensation that was not there before. 

Thinking better of it, he reached into his bag once Ned nipped to the toilet and brought out his inhaler. Despite what his Dad says, he never really used it. Another con from his spider bite was just his asthma decided to place a massive middle finger in front of Peter’s life and make it worse. Spider’s don’t even have asthma—they just have an abnormally short period of exertion. But with the spider bite came more bouts of shortness of breath and an extensive amount of wet coughing. If Tony wasn’t protective of Peter when he had minor asthma, then he is the definition of a helicopter when Peter’s asthma became much worse. 

He shook the inhaler twice, sitting up and greedily taking large gulps from the medicine provided. He cringed at the bitter taste it left in his mouth and shoved it back in his bag. It seems to of calmed the tightness in his chest for now, but his senses are still managing to act up. It can’t of been asthma because he would have worked up into an attack by now. 

Something is wrong… He just can’t place it. Maybe he should have brought his Spider-Man suit.

“Ready to go down to dinner?” 

Ned came out of the bathroom, fresh-faced and smiling. Peter’s only comfort right now was the rain pattering against the window of the hotel room. He wanted to stay there. He wasn’t hungry, nor was he craving human contact. 

“Sure. I’ll meet you down there in a sec.”

Ned gave him an odd look but didn’t push it. Peter waited a few minutes before standing up, quickly shooting Skip a text back before leaving the hotel room and double locking it.

_yup! i’ll see you tomorrow :)_


	4. watered by clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey comes to visit and Peter remains in D.C., far away from his family without their knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): underage drinking , non-consensual drug use , underage , non-graphic non-con , anxiety attack
> 
> if this makes you uncomfortable , then skip between - 
> 
> 1\. 'It left him guilt-ridden -- "Dad? What's up?"'
> 
> 2\. 'Before he could become too angsty...' - to the end.

“Where are the kids?”

Tony nearly jumped from his spot on the sofa when he heard that familiar voice. He turned to see Rhodey step into the living room. The familiar _whir_ of his legs made Tony wince. Even after all of these years he still looks back on the fight and his heart can’t help but drop at the thought that not only did he drag his youngest child into a fight, but also nearly lost both of them in the act. When he had found Peter lying unconscious after a particularly severe bash to the side of his head by Scott Lang, Tony’s entire being nearly stopped. Until he found that Peter had startled awake. And then he nearly lost Rhodey. Two very important people in his life got hurt. And he can never forgive himself for that. 

Rhodey made himself comfortable by making himself and Tony a cup of coffee. The kitchen and living room were loosely connected so it was easy for people to hear from each room. Tony made sure most of the rooms in the lake house were connected instead of divided between too many walls and doors to count. After Harley and Peter were snapped, he wanted to be as close to his remaining family as much as possible. 

“Harley’s at MIT—”

“Holy shit…” Rhodey came back in with two steaming mugs of coffee. He was smiling, handing one to Tony and settling himself down on the other end of the sofa. “I forgot how old he is now. Betcha proud.”

“I hate it when you talk like that,” Tony mused, taking a sip of the burning mug before placing it back on the coffee table. In front of them where the T.V. lay on the wall was the soft hum of the news about God-knows-what. It’s no secret that Tony laughs at the news every time they make a little tribute to his death. Pepper told him to stop laughing about it because it may come back to bite him in the ass. “But yes…” Tony carries on with what Rhodey was implying before; being proud of Harley. Being proud of all his kids. Hell, when Morgan rolled over for the first time he deemed her the most ingenious baby in the world—you can never change Tony’s mind. “He always wanted to go.”

Rhodey chuckled humorously. “Yes, I do remember,” the man said, giving his best friend a sideways glance. “When he was a kid—blonde hair and all, wanting to be just like his Daddy.” Rhodey’s tone was… soft. A voice Tony has the pleasure of hearing. Only rare, as it was. Rhodey tends to be more stern and sarcastic, two lovely traits that Tony happens to reflect. He can still be free with his friends. And it isn’t as if Harley and Peter haven’t picked up on his snarky attitude. There is no doubt that with time Morgan will also inherit the Stark’s cynical humour; she is already showing signs of that—the two of her older brothers are here to feed her more of the behaviour. Tony had never been prouder.

“Peter gonna be going to MIT, too?” Rhodey asks casually. 

Tony thought for a moment. There have never been any voiced objections from Peter when Tony brought up MIT. And he could have very easily said something when Harley boarded the plane to move miles away from them just to go to his dream college. Harley had once asked Tony if he could be moved up a few grades and go to MIT as early as Tony went. The immediate answer was no. His children needed a decent childhood. Making friends with people their age and enjoying high school, unlike Tony did—he never got to experience that.

“I don’t know,” Tony finally answered. “He’s swerving more towards Empire State University.” Tony had checked the school out; brilliant and many opportunities to arise from. Tony definitely will not protest to his son’s wishes if he chooses to go to ESU. 

“What is Harley studying again?”

“Mechanical and electrical engineering.”

Rhodey chuckled again. “Just like you. What about Peter? What does he want to do? Anything you did?”

Tony couldn’t help but return his affectionate humour to his friend. “He’s debating; he’s not sure whether he should go with biophysics or biochemistry.” 

Rhodey puffed out a long sigh at that. His eyebrows were raised rather comically at the mention of the hefty work Peter puts himself to. There is no denying that both Peter and Harley have worked hard. And still, continue to do so. But Harley has always been a little bit more lax than Peter when it comes to school. Tony was the same when he was younger. Whereas Peter tends to freak if he accidentally left his homework until the night before. 

Tony remembers very fondly of the time a nine-year-old Peter had come home, internally freaking out (but trying to hide the fact that he was) because the teacher had set a quiz for the very next day. The poor youngins only had to remember the answers for a total of five questions. And it didn’t even count towards test grades. But because Peter is Peter, he very nearly cried to his dad about it. No matter how many times Tony and Harley told him it was nothing to worry about, the boy still wouldn’t let it go. So after dinner time, Harley and Tony went out of their way to test Peter until he had to go to bed. It is safe to say that Peter had gotten full marks the very next day. Coming home with a huge, happy grin on his face, holding the lined paper sheet in Tony’s face in utmost victory. Tony treated Peter to ice cream and sneaked some to Harley. (Tony may be the definition of a ‘chill’ parent when it comes to disciplining his children, but he never outright spoiled his kids. That meant no such junk food lying around the home—only on special occasions). 

“Anyways,” Rhodey trailed off from his pride of his best friends children. “Where’s the little miss and Spider-Baby?”

“They’re with May,” said Tony, taking another large gulp of his coffee. “Pepper and I only have one meeting tomorrow, but other than that, it’s just me and her for the weekend.”

“Kid free weekend? Who would have thought?” Rhodey mimicked Tony’s actions to take some of his coffee. 

At the mention of a ‘kid-free weekend’, it made something tighten in Tony’s chest. He hasn’t had any time to himself for the better part of five years. He would fight tooth and nail with Pepper when it came to leaving Morgan with a babysitter (someone who was not Skip) they barely knew. The first time it happened made Tony shudder. How Morgan had cried into his chest—

_“I don’ wan’ you ta go, Dada.”_

Her voice had been thick with tears and agitation. It was so similar to Peter—

_“I don’t wanna go. Please, Dad, I don’t wanna go... ”_

He couldn’t leave his precious girl that night. Not when his youngest son’s petrified cries for his dad haunted him. 

_“Didn’t you hear her, Pep?!”_ He had yelled at his wife—dear Pepper who was so desperately confused by her husbands own sudden tears and cries of anguish as he held their daughter so tightly she feared he would squeeze her to the point of suffocation. He had never spoken of what had happened to Peter and him on Titan. Not for two years after the incident. _“She doesn’t want to go! He doesn’t want to go!”_ He hadn’t even realised he had subconsciously changed his daughter’s pronouns to _he_ —he had suddenly been thinking of his other baby—of Peter and how he didn’t want to go. 

It was that night when Morgan was contently tucked sleepily into her bed, Tony had confessed to Pepper as to _why_ he couldn’t leave Morgan. What had happened on Titan. And how the guilt of casting Harley off that morning to school felt as if he had never properly said goodbye to his oldest. He hadn’t even said a proper goodbye to Peter. Just a simple—

_“You’re alright.”_

It left him guilt-ridden. Even to this day.

“Hey, hey—Tony, you’re okay. Can you see me? Hear me?”

And all at once, the bad memories were gone. Instead of his son’s frightened face, looking to his dad for protection, he found the concerned gaze of his friend. Tony snapped out of it, drifting to reality again. He was home. The lake house surrounded him like pillows of cotton. It warmed him and calmed his beating heart; stopped his erratic breathing and allowed him to focus on Rhodey’s voice. 

“There you are. I thought I lost you there.” Rhodey’s smile was kind. It wasn’t patronising, nor was it sympathetic. He had dealt with Tony experiencing many anxiety-driven attacks before and had alas become used to them. But he never found a bother. Just a little more concerned than normal for his friend. “Are you okay? Need any water?”

Even after all of this time, Tony still pushes him aside. He wouldn’t physically push Rhodey aside. Especially when he is trying to help him. 

He has gotten better at opening up more. After Morgan was born, he became a lot softer than he once was. Having retired from fighting and becoming a lot more than emotional than necessary—losing your own two children will do that to you—has made him kinder as a person. He allowed Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, May and Morgan to fill the hole which Harley and Peter left. Because May had lost her nephew—the closest connection she had to Ben. Pepper had lost her God-sons. Rhodey lost his nephews. Happy lost the two boys who managed to make him smile—if only a little. Harley’s mother had lost her son also. His little sister had lost her big brother, who now happens to be older than Harley. 

It may have been the hardest for Tony, but others were surrounding him that missed the presence of his two boys. It had affected Natasha, Bruce, Thor (when he stuck around for a while), Steve… He never saw Clint until the very end. It was a huge mess. They had all missed the two sons of Stark. Anyone would have. And once Tony departed from his mission of Avenging, Rhodey was the one who kept him updated. Because Tony still had a little hope; it was barely there, but it broke through. The last resort was that picture. When Scott had mentioned time travel to piece together everything how it once was, he took one good look at a picture of him, Harley and Peter—three of which were posing for the camera, holding a poster of Stark Industries internships. Certificates for them, having to do their own work experience. It made him get up off his ass and sacrifice everything just so he could see his two precious boys again. 

His arm paid the price. But it was all worth it. To see his two beautiful sons again. To see his three children together, like it always should have been. 

“Where’s my phone?” Tony mumbled incoherently.

Rhodey pursed his lips, debating whether or not to give Tony his phone that was lying on the coffee table in front of them. “You sure, Tones? Want to get some water first?”

Tony shook his head. He needed to … he needed to contact his kids. He doesn’t think he can take another minute of not knowing they were okay.

For a moment, he panicked again for not being able to locate his phone. But then he found it on the table by his nearly empty coffee. He grabbed at it, much to Rhodey’s protest, and didn’t think twice before dialling Harley’s number. 

The more it rang, the more his chest constricted. He had to keep reminding himself that his kids are fine. Thanos is gone for good. In two timelines at that. 

_“Yo, Dad. Um, I’m just about to catch a class. You okay?”_

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. It was 7 in the evening—he forgot that university classes ran earlier and later than normal school hours. He’s sure the last classes run from 7 to 8. But he needed to be quick about this. Just hearing Harley’s voice calmed him. “I’m okay just ... just checking up on you. You alright, champ?”

“Yup. I’m all good…”

Rhodey watched quietly from beside his friend—watching Tony’s eyes soften at the sound of his oldest son’s voice. Rhodey should have guessed that whenever Tony was in the middle of an anxiety attack was to reassure him that his children were safe.

He didn’t even realise Tony had ended the call to Harley before he was looking at someone else’s. Rhodey caught the small glimpse of **May Parker** and instantly knew who else he was seeking. But he didn’t press the phone to his ear this time. Rhodey found that after the brief conversation with Harley it had calmed him down. Which was a good sign? He felt okay enough to text May. 

**Tony:** _Hi May. I wouldn’t have called, but I figured Morgan would be asleep by now. How is she? How is Peter?_

And in May Parker fashion, she replied almost straight away.

**May:** _She’s OK, Tony_

_Asleep and well_ _fed :)_

_And I’m sure Pete is fine as well. Why not give him a call?_

The classic smiley face reminded Tony of Peter. Knowing that Morgan and Harley are okay, he has one more child to check upon. He needn't call to check up on little Morgan. He didn't want to wake her, neither did he mistrust May's statements. 

He dialled Peter’s number, his anxiety levels rising once again when the rings seemed to go on for much longer than when Harley had answered the phone.

_“Dad? What’s up?”_

“Hey, Bambino…” He couldn’t help but let that nickname slip. “Hey, hey…”

_“Hey…?”_ Peter’s voice was borderline tired and confuzzled—he needed sleep, very obviously in need to tuck himself underneath some warm covers. “ _Hey—you sound stressed. Tell me what’s wrong.”_

“Nothing, baby. Just needed to hear from you.” It should be the other way around; Tony comforting his child, but instead, it’s Peter comforting his dad. Peter tends to handle trauma better than Tony. “Are you alright?”

_“Yeah. I’m a-okay.”_ There was a smile behind his voice. Tony allowed himself to relax. All three of his children are safe. _“Just had dinner. I’m gonna call it an early night…”_ His son began to babble aimlessly, and it’s noise Tony could listen to all night. He may not have been able to hear Morgan’s voice, but he trusts May. He trusts her with his life and the life of his children. Now with Peter waffling into his ear about shit he could barely hear, it was all he needed for a good night's sleep for himself tonight. 

It was a little while later that Tony relented; Peter let out a yawn on the other side of the line and Tony’s smile never faltered. He wished Peter were here right now—just to run his hands through those light curls, his baby’s head rested against his chest as he quote, rocked him to sleep, unquote. Peter doesn’t like to call it ‘rocking to sleep’ because it was a term used for infants—small children. But Tony knows better. 

“I’m gonna leave you there, bambino,” he said restlessly. 

_“Yeah, alright, Dad…”_ Another yawn. _“I guess I’ll see you Sunday?”_

“You’ll have the week to me.”

_“Awesome. I’ll see you later, Dad. Love you.”_

“I love you too, baby.” Tony heard as Peter hung up and everything seemed okay. Even Rhodey didn’t seem to be panicked about his distressing state. Everything is fine for now.

*****

“Dude, I’m gonna puke.”

Peter grimaced beside Ned, scooting away from him. “That’s gross.” He pulled his yellow jacket more around his shoulder, feeling his nerves wracking his small body. “If you’re gonna do it, aim it at Flash.” The mentioned boy didn’t so much as blink in their direction—he didn’t hear them. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” Ned muttered. It is times like these that Peter sees another side of Ned: jittery and serious. Ned is a bundle of giggles and nonchalant persona. The fact that Ned was also skittish before this competition, proved that everyone else should be as well. 

“I mean, I _know_ you can,” said Peter in a slight murmur. The hallway around them was beginning to diminish in noise levels and Peter didn’t want his voice projecting to add to the disconcerting echoing to the halls. They were currently waiting on the bench, waiting for go backstage then onto the main centre stage itself when ready. Peter could feel his nerves starting, and Ned was not helping. But he knows for a fact that he can do this. A little part of him will always have that doubt; he will never be as great-minded as his father nor brother. But he’s still got the power of beating many systems at a time. 

A lady to their right came out from main the doors leading to the stage. She was dressed smartly—white shirt, blazer and long, pencil skirt. She reminded Peter of the days of seeing Pepper working in the tower.

“Midtown Tech, you’re up,” the lady announced. She wasn’t as warm as Pepper. Peter suddenly missed her and May. He hasn’t even seen May in ages. And the talk with his dad last night nearly made him confess; _“Dad, I’m in D.C., not at Aunt May’s.”_ But he didn’t. Because he didn’t want Tony yelling at him. He may mean well, but no kid likes getting yelled at. No matter the circumstances. 

Peter gave Ned one more assuring glance before their team stood up and followed suit. Peter has to remind himself that someone who knows him is watching him; Skip will be out there in the crowd somewhere, mutely cheering him on. If anything, it gave him a surge of confidence, knowing someone was there to support him. He just hoped he doesn’t mess anything up. He didn’t want Skip reporting back to his dad of what a failure of a son he had. 

The stage seemed huge to Peter. Granted, he’s a small guy. But it would feel all too big for anyone. Even for a superhero.

Lights blinded him as he walked on stage. And all of a sudden, his sixth sense started screaming at him to run. Not in a sense of having to physically run away but in a sense of the danger within this very room—it had yet to be activated. Maybe some of that made no ounce of sense. It, however, gave Peter the tense subject of sitting down in his seat and being utterly rigid throughout the entire competition. 

Surprise, surprise—their team won. Peter couldn’t help but feel a little bad for all the schools they always beat. (He’s being a little egotistical in that sense. They have lost quite a few times against other schools. But if he were to count, they have won more times than they have lost). All the school they are up against are incredibly intellectual students. And every time, it is a tight and taught tie between the two schools. It’s either one or two points away at the most. 

At the end of the announcements and next term contests, the students are allowed to ponder around the halls of people and find their family. 

“Well, well—if it isn’t my nerd of a little brother.”

Peter couldn’t help the huge grin that split across his face at the familiar voice. He turned and there was Harley. Arms behind his back and posture straight in typical Stark manner. His smirk could be radiated and spread for miles. And the pride held in his blue eyes was enough to send Peter barrelling towards him, letting his childish instincts influence the hard day. Because their arms wound around each other. For once, Peter is thankful for behind a couple of inches shorter than his big brother, because it allowed him to more comfortable tuck his head to Harley’s chest.

“You’re such a nerd,” Harley huffed but still wrapped his arms around his baby brother. 

Peter pulled back with a small pout on his delicate features. “Fuck you, you’re just as much as a nerd as I am.”

“Y’know, if I didn’t know you two were brothers, I’d tell you two to get a room.”

All moments ruined. Harley and Peter took a step back from each other. Peter was already missing Harley’s touch. But his eyes wandered to Skip’s and he smiled shyly at him. He could feel Harley scowl, however, when he saw the man. 

Skip brought an arm over Peter’s shoulders, bringing him close to his side. Peter somewhat welcomed the gesture, preferring the cuddles from his family. Skip was slowly becoming apart of their family now, wasn’t he? And in a way, it warmed Peter’s heart. They have a pretty big family. The Avengers was just the beginning of their extended family. It just keeps getting bigger. Nick Fury had always been subtly apart of their family. Even as he thinks about it, Peter has only hung out with Carol a few times, seeing as she stayed on Earth for a fair couple weeks after the defeat of Thanos, and in the time of visiting the Stark’s for ‘business matters’, she had gotten along with the three Stark children. Peter overheard her saying to his dad that she found Peter ‘particularly adorable’. He takes it as a compliment. They even got to properly introduce themselves at Tony’s and Pepper’s remarried ceremony instead of on a battle-field. 

Peter still found that Harley was not fond of Skip being there. 

“Where’s Dad?” asked Harley, eyeing Skip suspiciously. 

Before Peter could answer but Skip does it for him. “He couldn’t make it. Meeting.” He still has yet to remove his arm from around Peter. Skip may be weaving himself into the Stark family (he might have already with Tony, Pepper and Morgan), but he hasn’t wholly stuck a place in Peter’s heart yet. He looks after Morgan, and he’s kind and good with her. That placed him in Peter’s good books. He just needed to see a little more fluff between the family before he can fully trust him. 

“Alriiighhht…” Harley’s response was dragged out. As if he didn’t believe the answer Peter came out with. His gaze turned from Skip to Peter, eyebrows raised in questioning. “Dad has always bunked a meeting off.” Gearing someone say it out loud made Peter’s smile vanish. He face twisted down at the reality of it. “If it was to do with either me or you, he would always find the time. Does he even know you’re here, Pete?” 

He wants to say yes. Because lying is always easier than telling the truth. What was he supposed to say afterwards if Tony didn’t know he was here? Miles away from home just like his oldest child? The only one who is safe is Morgan.

“Dad doesn’t know you’re here.” And Peter wishes he had kept his mouth shut. He and Harley may be close, but the arguments they have sometimes come out of nowhere. Funnily enough, Peter didn’t feel like arguing right now. Not when they were surrounded by a load of other people. And not when his school had just one the academic decathlon. 

Harley’s eyes flashed dangerously at that. Skip’s arm finally removed itself from Peter’s shoulders, sensing the tension. Peter didn’t need a shouting-match right now. 

“Dad will know I’ll be going out a lot—”

“Harley… please…” Peter didn’t mean to sound a little whiny. It came out like that. “I just want to have a good night. I won. Can you be happy for me?”

“I am, Peter,” said Harley. He walked over and turned his back to Skip, holding gently at Peter’s upper arms, looking down at the younger Stark. “Dad will freak out if he realises you’re not where you say you are. Aunt May’s, right?” 

“It’s okay—” Peter started dejectedly.

_“No.”_ Harley shook his head. Even after all of these years of growing up with Harley by his side, he’s never gotten used to the seriousness of Harley's voice. He spent most of his time relying on sarcasm and dry humour to weave his way through life. However, seeing him solemn— _protective—_ still unnerves him. “No, Peter, it isn’t okay. Please tell Dad where you are. He doesn’t need this stress right now.”

Oh...

_Oh._

_Right._

Harley was concerned for their dad. Which is fair enough. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately. More so than he has been for the last fifty years of his life. Even with his son's back from the dead, Tony seems to of taken a cascade of workload and business matters regarding his ‘death’, the future of Stark Industries, how the world will cope without the Iron Man there to save the day. And all of this time Peter just believed Tony wouldn’t want to come. He would have wanted to. It’s his _dad,_ for crying out loud. Screw what people thought of what happens behind closed doors—people being arrogant enough to even _insinuate_ Tony so much as laid a harmful finger on his children—Tony loves them all. And he would do anything for them. Peter can’t concentrate that his Dad had been in a pool of paperwork and meetings. He shouldn’t be so selfish. At least Harley made him realise this.

“I’ll tell him,” said Peter in a low voice. Not so low that Harley couldn’t hear it. So low that no one else could hear it. 

Harley let go out him, now smiling cheekily and giving Peter’s perfectly styled hair a ruffle. A strangled noise escaped Peter at that, scowling at his brother for bringing out the array of curls.

“Right, I have to go,” said Harley. The familiar wash of sadness filled Peter at that. “Got an early class in the morning. I’ll see you at Christmas, yeah?” 

Peter curled himself around Harley again, needing that presence of someone there to care a little more for the minute. 

_(stop being so selfish peter)_

Harley pulled back, giving one last hair ruffle to Peter before announcing his departure to Skip. It was more brief and gruff. Skip’s eyes wandered towards Harley as he escaped the room. Then he turned back to Peter and grinned. “You wanna get something to drink, Einstein? As a point of celebration?”

Peter shook his head and chuckled light-heartedly. “I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, Skip, but I’m sixteen. Not twenty-one.” 

“It’s fine.” Skip made a waving gesture with his hand. “Just a little bit, okay? I can get you some lemonade.” Peter’s shaking head still pushed Skip on, arm going back around Peter’s shoulders. “Tell you what, Pete—drinks on me, okay? You don’t have to get anything that doesn’t float your boat.”

“Depends,” said Peter, “will there be Fanta? Or fizzy lemonade? That shits the best.” Even with Harley leaving, he still felt okay. Maybe this was a good idea. Despite his spider-senses still shaking his posture, he feels fine. He should ignore his senses for just a minute and relax. If there is a bad guy here then he would have lashed out by now, surely? He deserves a little bit of a hang out after being up on stage for almost an hour.

“I’ll get you some Fanta and lemonade. Don’t you worry, Einstien.” 

Peter looked back at his team. He found that a couple of them were gone, some being led out by their parents, others staying put, waiting to be brought back to the hotel they were staying at. Peter briefly wondered whether or not he should let Mr Harrington knows he’s going out. Because he knows his teacher tends to panic when everyone isn’t within eye-shot of him. By the time he thought of this, though, Skip had dragged him outside and into the car park. 

“That’s my car. Over there.” Skip pointed, once again releasing his grip on Peter to pull out his keys. Peter’s eyes widened at the sleek car. A black, shiny Toyota Camry. It was parked perfectly, clean and smooth, windows tinted—blacked out—and just screaming _rich._ Peter knows that Skip works under Tony, so of course, he was bound to get quite a bit of money. He also happens to know that Skip is young—mid to late twenties, right?—so seeing someone this successful this young when he’s had no help is someone you would want your child to look up to. And in a way, Peter does look up to Skip. 

Peter whistled.

“I know,” Skip said smugly. “Come on then, get in.” 

Was it possible that the car was even greater on the inside? Peter has had his fair share of seeing and riding in nice cars over the years. He’s the child of a billionaire. But seeing someone else with a sweet ride had him as excited as a puppy receiving a delicious, juicy bone for Christmas. He used to be ecstatic whenever Tony brought a new car every other year. Nowadays, Tony sticks to his baby, 2013 Audi Sports Quattro Concept. He never changed it after Harley and Peter disappeared, mainly because it was the boy’s favourite car to have a family outing in. And he still has it to this day. It is hardly ever used, but it is the only car outside of their lake house.

Peter still has yet to get his car, which Tony refuses to get him because he says he believes Peter should earn something as expensive as a car. Peter understands as Harley had; his older brother saved up for a sweet, grey Vauxhall Astra GTC and a joint birthday and Christmas present, Tony helped him out. Presently, Peter is saving up for his very own car which Tony will also help towards when the time is right. After all, he had passed his theory and just passed his practical driving test a couple a few months back after turning sixteen. (He and Tony will keep it to themselves that he started learning before he turned the legal age to drive).

“Admire her—she’s a beauty.” Skip winked at Peter as he placed his car in reverse. “The back of her never gets any use. But we’ll worry about that later.” Peter has no clue as to what that means, but takes no notice, letting his tired eyes bore out of the darkened windows. It was pitch black, so it was nothing exciting. In a way, he just wanted to go back to the hotel with Ned and sleep until morning. He hasn’t had a decent night's sleep in months—before the war, at that—so hitting it sounded more pleasant than usual. And with that, he fell asleep. 

Skip didn’t take Peter out. Instead, he stopped off at a garage and told Peter to wait in the car whilst he got a few things. It woke the boy up, a little startled by the sudden stop of the car. Peter noticed that they were practicality in the middle of nowhere. Nothing stood out apart from the garage in this area. It was rundown, shabby and a place Peter would never find himself in. Not in that way—he’s always going to the rundown side of Queens, simply because it held Mr Delmar’s store. He means he doesn’t like the type of rundown places where it can quite obviously be used as a drug-hangout/exchange. It made the teen a little more than uncomfortable. 

Before he could become too angsty, Skip returned with two bottles of— _fucking hell, is that vodka? He’s meant to be driving!_

Skip shoved a small bottle of fizzy lemonade and Fanta into Peter’s lap. He admired the nice coolness of each bottle in his lap for a minute before he sceptically turned to Skip, who was now starting up the car whilst opening the bottle of vodka.

“Um… Skip?” He said a little hesitantly. 

“Yeah?” The man room a swig, and that’s when Peter’s Spider-Senses started caving in.

_(run, peter, run)_

“Drinking and driving isn’t allowed…” He sounded so lame. He couldn’t take this. He unwrapped the bottle lid from his Fanta, taking no notice at how lose it was and quickly downed half of the bottle. He hadn’t noticed how thirsty he was. 

“We’ll be stopping in a sec, don’t worry.” 

His voice was oddly soothing for someone being so reckless. Peter downed some more of his Fanta. 

Skip was correct in his sayings of stopping somewhere. Still in the middle of nowhere. At the side of the road, a forest either side of them stretching for miles. It made Peter feel uneasy. Not to mention his Spider-Senses were—

A wave of dizziness washed over him in that moment. Brutally so that it nearly knocked the air from him. And he found that his fingers that had started to shake from around the tightening of the Fanta bottle. It was nearly all gone. He drank the rest, not wanting to feel the tunnel of nausea that threatened to cripple his insides. 

“Wanna take this to the back seats?” Skip asked lightly, already placing his other bottle of vodka in the backseat, the other still in his hand as if his life depended on it. He was already moving and Peter felt a little awkward if he stayed in the front, so he moved himself to fit in the backseat next to Skip.

In his wave of dizziness, he came out with something that would make his dad laugh and Pepper gap at the utter outrageous comment. “I feel as if you’ve just kidnapped me.” 

Thankfully, Skip didn’t take it to heart and laughed. “Oh, you’re adorable, Pete. I wouldn’t dream of doing something like that.” Peter relaxed a little more, opening up his lemonade and promising to savour it more. The dizziness is still there, and his vision is starting to black-out even with the inside car lights on. “Say, want some spirit with that?”

Peter raised his eyebrows, head resting back against the car seat as he turns to look at the man. “That’s not vodka?”

“Not only are you adorable, you’re innocent as well, I’ve noticed.” Skip made a gesture for Peter to drink his lemonade. He did. And instead of savouring it, he downed almost half of it as well. This gave Skip the perfect opportunity to pry the bottle from Peter’s hands and fill it up to the top again with the alcoholic beverage. “Eesti Piirtus. This Spirit is the strongest alcoholic drink I could find.” He gave the bottle a good shake by placed his thumb over the bottle hole so it wouldn’t spill. “I know you burn through a load of things fast, so maybe this will help you keep your happiness levels to a high.” 

At this point, everything that Skip was saying made absolutely no sense. What? Did he know that Peter was Spider-Man? But how? His dad wouldn’t have told him? God, he needs Tony. He wants him to come get him. He’s in a meeting, isn’t he? So he can’t… 

He takes a swig of the bottle and winces. That… didn’t taste right… What had Skip put in there again? He tries taking it well-away from his lips but Skip says something to him—it was muffled but Peter could make out something like, "You look parched. I'd keep that near your mouth, Einstien."

He looks down at his wrist where his watch lies. On the side is a button that looked as if it could be mistaken as the crown to turn the hands. In reality, it was a panic button that alerts F.R.I.D.A.Y. of his whereabouts so Tony could come and collect him. Harley has one too. None of them have ever used it to Peter’s knowledge. Right now… he doesn’t know. His head is foggy and his vision swam before his eyes. 

“...’er?”

The boy turned his head, suckling on the head of the bottle. Taking slow, tentative sips of the spirit laced lemonade. 

“...’ver been …’ssed bef’...?”

Has he ever been?... kissed before? No. No, he hasn't. He shakes his head. 

“Want me …’ow you?” 

Peter didn’t even answer because he hadn't caught on to what Skip had said. Skip was then taking the half-drunken bottle away from the boy, putting his down and pushing Peter back against the seat.

Why … why were his Spider-Senses not working? They were but they weren’t allowing him to react. God, he doesn’t know what’s happening. 

Lips touched him as foreign as the night is. He turned away, suddenly flinching away violently. He knows what’s happening. His brain could comprehend that much. 

“No, Skip—” Lips touched his again, and for some reason, he couldn’t push away. The weight above him was heavy and grating. “Stop, Skip—” He gasped when the man’s lips moved to his neck. With his hand travelling towards Peter’s belt buckle and undoing it— “Skip! Stop! Get off me!”

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s alright, precious…” He moaned against him. 

He wanted his dad. Where _is_ his dad? He always saved him; he always had and always will. He shouldn’t even be thinking of Tony right now. Not when his dad is incredibly busy and in need of no interrupting. He can’t help it—something is happening and he can’t wrap his head around the situation. 

A dry sob left his lips when he felt the bottom half of his clothes being removed. He didn’t seem to have the strength to push the man above him away. How his hands roamed and violated his untouched body. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel good. 

“Ge-et off!” He heaved a dry sob again, his throat locked and tears only starting to build up behind his eyes. His pathetic attempts at pushing the man away only seemed to encourage Skip more. 

“Hey, hey…” His voice was sickeningly gentle. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ll make it better, okay? It’s okay. You’re okay…” 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get him off. Skip was too strong…

_He's too strong…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay safe out there , everyone. it's cliché , but good advice: there is going to be someone for you to talk to out there. do seek help if you need it.


	5. it all comes crashing down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries not to dwell on the night before and Tony finds out that Peter was never with May all along.

Peter awoke with a pounding head. His eyes, as they opened, threatened to shut again against the light they should be accustomed to. There was a pain in his back and thighs, and when he tried moving, an unmistakable sense of bruises were pressing into his hips. 

He wasn’t aware of where he was and why his body told him he had been run over multiple times by a raging stampede of caribou. Beneath him, as he lied on his back, there was an uncomfortable vibration motion. As if he were in a moving car. 

Then it all came crashing down. He remembered everything. Of course, he does. How he had started to suddenly feel so sick and incomprehensible. When Skip had brought him into the back seat. He had started saying things to him. And then the man was on top of him. Then—

“Hey, sleeping beauty.”

Peter needed to puke. He felt it. Rolling around in his stomach, threatening to quite literally paint the back of Skip’s car. And because he no longer had any sympathy for Skip Peter didn’t hold back the nauseous feeling and leaned over the seat and threw up. Skip looked over and cursed silently. Peter rolled back onto the seat, staring up at the ceiling. He felt the car pull over and come to a stop, the rough pull of the handbrake on and the opening of Skip car door. Then, the door by his head was opened and he felt Skip carefully lift him by his armpits, dragging him from the car. Despite feeling like absolute shit, Peter fought. 

With a shove, he elbowed Skip in the stomach. Upon hearing the man grunt, Peter ripped himself from the grip Skip had on him. He was dropped. That turned out to be a stupid idea because the back of Peter’s head hit the pavement floor. It didn’t cause him to blackout, but dark spots danced in front of his vision. He quickly recovered, standing up and stumbling away from Skip. 

“You will have to wait for me to take you back to the hotel room.” Skip’s voice was a drool. Like _he_ had just woken up rather than Peter.

Nausea made itself present again. The teen stumbled back a little bit more before he rested his backside against the hood of the car. His fringe fell in front of his eyes that were red-rimmed and irritated. A cough bubbled up from his throat causing him to double over to spit onto the floor. Something his dad never tolerated. It wasn’t sadness welling up in him. It was pure terror. What could Skip do to him? He was Spider-Man and he couldn’t even fight him back.

“It will take you at least an hour to get back to the hotel,” Skip continued, walking toward Peter, causing the boy's heart to thump wildly in his chest. When Skip reached out with his hand to take Peter’s chin in his index and middle finger, Peter recoiled back fiercely as if the touch burned him. “By then the school bus would have left without you.”

Peter almost growled at that. “They wouldn’t. They’d look for me.” He dared to look up and then wished he hadn’t. That’s… 

That is what his Spider-Senses had screamed at him for; why he had felt sick coming up to this trip. Why he felt uncomfortable under Skip’s hold; under his gaze it seemed even worse. The stare was cold. It held no colour. Each pointed look aimed toward him should have been a sign of that. He isn’t a nice man. He was aiming to strike at the right moment. And because Harley and Peter have been focusing so much on how he was with Morgan, they haven’t been paying attention to how Skip may be looking at other people.

Morgan…

“What have you done with Morgan?!” he suddenly burst out. If he thought his heart was beating to break his rib cage, then it was now. 

The man above him barked out a crude laugh. It sent shivers cascading down Peter’s spine. “What of it?”

“You fucking—” Peter couldn’t finish. Because after the thought of Skip even looking at his baby sister in that way had him barrelling over and throwing up the remains of anything he consumed the day before. 

“Oh, dear…” Cold hands came to caress his cheeks, bringing his head up. If he shut his eyes and imagined … for just a few seconds… that it was May comforting him; when his dad had yelled at him on the rooftop and he had escaped to May’s. If only for a few seconds he could believe that he wasn't with this monster. “You poor baby. Perhaps I shouldn’t have given you that spirit.”

_(he’s a bad guy, pete. do not sit there and do nothing)_

Ned’s famous words of advice is the type of spirit Peter needs as of now.

“No.” Peter gave an attempt at pushing Skip away. 

“I wouldn’t do that Spider-Man.” He should have known that Skip knew. How did he not catch that? “And if you _dare_ even _think_ of running to Daddy about this, just remember, he can’t be around to protect you, Morgan and Harley all at the same time.”

It was those words that made everything so cold. The thought of Skip going out of his way to hurt Morgan. Or Harley. Peter heaved a small cry. He couldn’t let that happen. And the next thing he knew, he was full-on sobbing. Tears pooled his eyes and ran down his cheeks. It was not a good look on the side of the road and Peter knows this. However, the road is empty, bare of any life. Skip did this on purpose. From any pass-Byers, the child crying with a puddle of puke lying at his feet would look a little more than strange.

“Wha—” Peter gasped, his throat closing up. He was panicking, and he knows he needs to calm down before this little thing his dad once called an ‘anxiety-attack’ turned into a full-blown anxiety-induced asthma attack. “What have you done to Morgan?”

“Nothing,” Skip confirmed gently. “Nothing at all, Einstein. I don’t plan on doing anything to that sweet girl.” Peter’s stomach rolled. He couldn’t bring up anything else. It was all gone. So was his dignity. He’d shown this man everything. Not even Spider-Man could fight off a predator—Peter isn’t stupid. He knows what Skip did was wrong. And he had learned so much about these types of happenings in sex ed. class. How could he be so _weak?_ He could understand the vulnerable people, with hardly any parent supervision or the dark cloud of depression that had looked over their lives. Peter also understands it happens to those who may be the happiest's in the world; this type of thing can happen to _anyone._ But none of them were bitten by a radioactive spider, were they? They couldn’t of had the mentality or the strength to fight off a monster like this. So … so why couldn’t Peter? It just didn’t make any sense… 

“Listen here, sweetheart.” 

Peter swallowed, telling himself to look up. It wasn’t that hard. He’s a human being. A malicious, calculating supervillain, at that. But Peter had taken on worse. He can do this. He had to. For Harley. For his dad. For Pepper. And most of all… Morgan. 

“Daddy can't always save you. How many times has he left you and Harley in the past? How many times has he put you in danger for his arrogance?” Peter cannot answer that. Not because he thinks the latter of what Skip has said is true—it isn’t. He and Harley have always been under the protective care of their father, no matter how busy he used to be. He still made the time and effort to spend time with them, to raise them, take them to school, give them cuddles and attention when sick. No; he stayed quiet because he was terrified of what Skip was implying—whatever he is meaning to say next. “What of it now? That he never really died? How would the paper’s love that?”

_They…_ Peter rubbed at his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears. His chest felt hollow like Skip had physically placed a bullet through his heart. And it hurt. Because not only was he threatening to hurt Morgan and Harley, he was declaring that he was going to expose his father's faked death to the public of his uncanny absence in the last half a dozen months. Why had their hero Iron Man would resign from his duties; why would he abandon the citizens he once swore to protect?

“Hey, hey…” Skip clapped his hands in front of Peter’s face, making the teen flinch back for the umpteenth time that morning. “What are you going to do?”

Peter’s breathing was laboured at this point. What was he going to do? He wanted to run; run back to the hotel. To Ned. Away from Skip where he could never see him again. He wanted to do so much that didn’t involve getting back in that car again. And that is when he remembered his watch. His eyes subconsciously travelled down to his wrist where it still lay. Secured tightly around his left wrist. Very distinctly, he remembered when Tony had given him the expensive device. He had sat Peter down on his bed and tied it comfortably around his skinny wrist, his touch so much softer, gentler, affectionate than the touches he had received from Skip last night.

Within this moment, the young Stark wanted his dad more than ever at that moment. The Vulture was nothing compared to the monster in front of him. With Adrian Toomes, Peter hadn’t wanted any of his dad’s affection—he wanted Tony’s approval and praise, to prove him wrong after a malicious fight they had had. However, this time, he can’t even begin to believe what Tony would think if he knew his strongest child— _Spider-Man_ —couldn’t fight a man incapable of handling dangerous alienated weapons. 

Tony would be so disappointed in Peter. And the shaking teen couldn’t bring himself to press the panic button. He couldn’t. And he wouldn’t.

“What did I just say?” Skip’s dripping voice brought Peter’s eyes forward. But he didn’t look into those cold eyes. “Einstein… Don’t play hard to get.”

“I’m not—” Peter sucked in a breath into his rattling lungs, “—I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

He didn’t see Skip’s growing grin. It doesn’t mean he didn’t feel it. “Good boy. Hey, look at me, baby.” _Don’t call me that. Please, stop taking Dad’s affection. “Look at me,”_ Skip repeated, a ruthless edge to his tone. Peter did. He couldn’t contain the glare he shot at the man through his limp curls. “What do you say?”

_(what do you say?)_

He would much rather be in the presence of Adrian Toomes than Skip.

“Th-thank you,” Peter choked out. 

“For what?”

_(please, please—i want to go back to sitting in that car, with toomes, whilst not on speaking terms with my dad if it gives me an ounce of my dignity back. my innocence. knowing I could stop the bad guys…)_

“For not hurting Morgan and Harley,” mumbled Peter.

“And?”

“And … for leaving Dad alone.”

“Good boy…” His thumb came to stroke across Peter’s cheek. “Come on, Einstein, how about a kiss?” Peter shook his head and tried walking around the man to escape. He felt frozen on the spot when Skip grabbed at his shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Don’t be shy.” He leaned forwards, hot breath ghosting over Peter’s ear. “You weren’t shy last night.” 

“I don’t want to…” Peter is aware of his whining—how high pitched his boyish voice sounded to anyone’s ears. He sounded like a two-year-old refusing to go to nursery for the day. 

“Come on.” The smirk was disgusting on his face. _Evil. Malicious. Manipulative._ “Just one kiss. Otherwise, it’s bye-bye to Daddy’s retirement.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his head. He didn’t dare stand up on his tippy-toes just to reach Skip. The man leaned down and pecked his lips, much to Peter’s disgust. It didn’t even seem as if Skip were satisfied with the kiss. He tutted the child in him, almost like a mother would. “We’ll work on that.” His hand returned to his cheek. Peter still refused to make eyes with him, preferring to stare down at his beaten-up converses. “Now, we got a mess to clean up.”

*****

Peter didn’t have time to think on the bus. Skip had dropped him off at the hotel an hour before anyone woke up. So that bullshit about everyone leaving soon just riddled Peter up. But he didn’t let it show. He was just… exhausted. And to think he was out of it last night, everything was a giant blur. He should have been stronger than this; he should have been better. There are people out there who go through this every single day, and he can’t even think about one night without his stomach rolling for him to puke up more stomach acid. 

“Behave,” Skip had told him sternly when he opened the car door to leave. The tips of his fingers were stark white, shaking and cold. _“Behave,_ Einstein.” Then he drove away, leaving the teen there eating the dust of his car. 

His bag was left untouched by his bed and he scrambled for his inhaler. It didn’t do much. He took two puffs, and it didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. It was barely seven in the morning, and with his frantic breathing and attempt at easing his panicky breathing, he woke Ned up.

“Dude? You alright?” Even Ned’s concerned voice forced him to choke down a whimper. Why didn’t he just go straight back to the hotel with his class? With _Ned?_ He and his best friend would have collapsed onto their beds, ordering room service of lukewarm lemonade together and would have chatted for hours before one of them eventually fell asleep. “Peter? Are you having an asthma attack?”

Peter shook his head, chest stuttering to keep up with his breathing. He was calming down now—he’s fine. “No…” He let out a small gasp of air, his eyes burning with unappreciated tears. “No need, Ned. Just… a little out of breath.” 

Ned threw the covers over the bed, stretching a little before fixing his—still—concerned gaze to his friend. He was kneeling on the floor by his bag. It must have looked a little bad if the teen was clutching at his clothed chest, face pale and sweaty, small bouts of coughs only starting to make an appearance. He hadn’t had an asthma attack when in Skip’s car—that was more of an anxiety-induced attack. But now, with the hooping coughs wracking chest and painful rips of saliva making its way from his parting lips, he thinks now he is having an asthma attack. And he’s sure it’s been brought on by sheer panic. 

Ned shot out of bed when his friend continued to cough, coming to lean next to Peter, eyes squinting in the bare light given in the room. The curtains were closed, so it only provided a little white light in the room. He looked towards Peter’s bag and immediately started digging through it. 

“Peter? Where’s your other inhaler?” 

Peter wiped furiously at his eyes, feeling them beginning to stream and chest constructing again that let out a more pain-wracking coughs. “I - In – in the suitcase, Ned.” His friend stopped searching through his small rucksack and went to his suitcase full of overstay clothes and made the wise choice of tugging the zip of the front of the case down and immediately taking out Peter’s other inhaler. He shook it vigorously before letting Peter’s lips enclose around the mouthpiece and pressing down the canister. 

Peter sucked in a greedy breath, both of them waiting for the longest ten seconds of their lives before Peter breathed out shakily through his nose before Ned pushed down again, letting the medication do its work. They waited another ten seconds and Ned took the inhaler away, placing it down on the floor by Peter’s rucksack. His friend reached over and patted his shoulder, a small smile—or grimace—on his face sympathetically. Peter took a few more deep breaths, regaining his composure before daring himself to look at Ned. His chest was still a little tight, but the emergency inhaler helped more than his normal one. He’s never really had to use his emergency one (being as his asthma wasn’t major), but every time he did, he felt a little embarrassed, knowing that a superhero like him needed something a small as an asthma pump to keep his lungs working. 

“You alright?” Ned said, worry wavering his voice. “Want me to get Mr Harrington?”

Peter shook his head, leaning his bed against his bed. “Nah… it’s fine.”

“Okay,” said Ned. “Do… you need to talk about it?” 

_(ned, what would i do without you?)_

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Peter said with as much honesty as he could bear. “Sometimes that happens. I take – take hard hits sometimes.” He lightly patted his chest for emphasis and coughed a little more. 

“Being Spider-Man comes with a lotta hits, then?” Ned’s sweet smile is back. And that is all Peter asks for. Convincing Ned he had been out as Spider-Man all night was the only way to water down Ned's distress.

“I guess you could say that.” Peter smiled back. Maybe if he smiled and joked and pretended everything that happened last night never happened, he would be okay. Because he felt a little better being in the presence of Ned. His friend's bubbly stricture putting the simplest of smiles on his face. 

“Where were you last night before going out as Spider-Man? Got here late?”

He can pretend. He’s good at pretending. “Yeah. Went out with Harley for a little bit.”

“Ah, I saw him in the crowd. Had the biggest smile on his face. Makes me wish I had a big brother.”

That made him feel better. Harley is fine. He’s safe, at MIT right now. Getting ready for classes this morning, probably making a load of new friends and forgetting about the troubles at home… He wished he were Harley. But then his brother would have experienced what he had last night. And he would step in front of Harley any day if it meant his older brother is out of harm's way. 

“We better start packing.” Ned stood up, stretching once again and walking to the bathroom to take a shower. “I won’t be too long.”

Peter chuckled. “I won’t count on it."

*****

Tony turned the key to May’s apartment in hand, ready to pick up his son and daughter. He had texted May that he was on his way a good couple of hours ago. May told him she would have taken Morgan back home, but she had an overnight shift at the hospital she worked at, apologising profusely for it. He had shrugged her off, telling her he was fine with driving over and picking up his kids. She didn’t reply to him after that, and Tony guessed she was caught up with his little troublemaker of a daughter before driving on over to Queens.

The apartment building May lived in wasn’t exactly one for privacy. He remembered when he first came to an apartment building, dropping a little toddler-sized Peter off with Ben and May as he had a long week of business in Tokyo. He remembers Peter’s shyness, despite adoring his aunt and uncle to bits, head buried in Tony’s shoulder as they entered the small home after a few light knocks to the door. There was a teen in the hallway at the time, staring wide-eyed at the man dressed fancifully in a three-piece suit, sporty sunglasses on and a perfectly trimmed beard with a full set of brown hair. He had possibly recognised Tony from the T.V. It was mainly adults who recognised Tony as a celebrity. It wasn’t until his announcement of Iron Man that he became famous in litre kids and teens eyes as well. After that, once Ben's and May's jobs picked up, they had moved into a nice, three-bedroom home. Peter and Harley had loved it there. However, when Ben died, May had to relocate back to an apartment again.

He smiled to himself at the fond memory of Ben's and May's old home. Tony had offered to pay for the bills at the house until May got herself back on her feet, but she was never one to take money from others despite the richness Tony had.

Quickly turning his keys into May’s apartment had his heart on edge. He had a mask covering the lower part of his face, sunglasses shielding his eyes and a cap over his head. If anything, he looked like a shitty bank robber, ready to commit an offence within the safety of the walls of this building. (Because years and years ago, Tony made sure that this part of Queens was as safe-guarded as possible). He also wore a simple, plain hoodie (no doubt from Rhodey, but their clothes had been mixed up for years) and ripped jeans with shoes that are probably about the worth of five dollars. He needed to draw as little attention as possible (sans the damn bandanna covering his lower-face), and it seemed to do the trick. A person was hanging outside their door, a girl probably in her early teens, chewing on her lip, looking as if she had accidentally locked herself out and was waiting for someone to get home. Another, a man of middle-aged, passed by him without a second glance. The disguise was helpful, at least. But it didn’t stop Tony from feeling like either a complete and utter douchebag, or an idiot. (Probably both). 

“Tony?” came May’s voice.

“Daddy!”

Tony pulled the bandanna down and slid the glasses on top of his cap, ready to envelop the hug his daughter prepared to propose. And true to his bearings, he then had an armful of a 3’4 girl, her face buried by his stomach, brown hair wild around her face. He managed to pick her up despite his paralysed arm (which was gradually improving) and balanced her on his non-existent hips. 

“Hey, princess,” Tony greeted with a huge grin, letting his little girl then wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned into her touch, the amount of anxiety throughout the whole weekend without any of his kids subsiding. “How was your weekend?”

Morgan leaned up again, a small smile on her face. “Auntie May took me to a funfair!” Even after all of these five years of Morgan calling May ‘Auntie May’ (a name May missed once Peter started calling her Aunt May, or just May), Tony still smiled that Morgan understands that she isn’t her auntie, but wanted to be like her big brother, from what Tony had explained to her when she was a little younger about May being her big brother’s auntie. 

“Did she now?” Tony walked them into the living room where a smiling May stood. “How expensive was that?” The smirk on the older Stark’s face made May roll her eyes playfully. 

“Morgan won Peter an elephant,” May said. 

“His name is Ellie,” Morgan said proudly. 

Tony scoffed, looking towards May who only smiled more. “Why do you have to be so generic?”

“I named him after Ellie from Ice Age, Daddy.”

“That damn film …” Tony muttered. He didn't need to know why the elephant was a male and named 'Ellie'. “Sweetie, Ellie is a mammoth.” Morgan giggles and wiggled down from his grasp, running off to the spare room of the apartment that contained two beds. It used to be used for just Peter and sometimes Harley would join (but he mostly ended up staying with his mother whenever Tony was away), and now it was used for Peter still, or just Morgan, or both. Tony watched and looked around the rest of the flat, now noticing that Peter wasn’t in the room with them. “Where’s Peter?” 

The frown that replaced May’s smile immediately worried Tony. “Peter?” May echoed, confused. “He’s in D.C.” 

_“What?”_ Tony spluttered. _“What do you mean he’s in D.C.?”_

Because May had that undeniable Parker-Stark snark, she quips bluntly, “I mean he’s in D.C.” Tony glared at her. She must have seen the wide panic in his eyes nonetheless because she elaborated for him. “He had a decathlon competition. The dates are a little messy, hence the early start. He left Friday. He’s coming back today. He… didn’t tell you?” Instead of the blatant sarcasm this time, May seemed downright confused. And Tony couldn’t help but mirror her frown. Why didn't Peter tell him about this? 

“Daddy, this is Ellie.” Morgan appeared seemingly out of nowhere, half her body covered by a soft-looking elephant plush. It was grey and fluffy everywhere with a short trunk a black beady eyes. It was cute, and Tony’s heart warmed at the thought of Morgan winning it for Peter. “I would have got Harley something but he’s not here.” She seemed a little sad at that. But then broke out into another smile. “I can get him something next time.” 

“You’re just like your mother,” Tony murmured, his hand drawing Morgan’s head to his side in a little hug. “How about you grab your stuff and we can go home?” 

“Okay! Can you hold Ellie, please?” 

Tony did so as Morgan ran off to the spare room again. Tony subconsciously hugged the elephant to his chest, the non-existing presence of his two sons gnawing on him. He knows he will be seeing Harley by Christmas, and he knows he will be seeing Peter tonight. Tony is contemplating whether or not he should give his middle child an earful or not. 

“Why did you think he was here?” May asked a little moment later. 

Tony shook his head, the words May told him sinking in deep. “I don’t know.” All of a sudden, he feels stupid for not asking where Peter was. Or possibly not even giving Peter a chance to tell him that he wasn’t spending the weekend with his aunt. Was it Tony’s fault? Peter wasn’t talking to him as of late. Not that he did a lot anyway; Peter takes after Tony, after all. He never really spoke about how he felt. But instead of turning to alcohol like Tony did (yes, at fifteen and sixteen) Peter soaks up his sadness from his Dad. He may not be talking, but Tony will find when his youngest son is upset about something, he will either disappear for a while or stay near his Dad. But he never talks. Not of Uncle Ben. (Tony is sure he spoke to May about Ben, but never to him). Not of the crimes, ones he had brutally faced. Not of the Vulture nor their argument. And they have barely touched upon Titan and the war. He was the youngest Avenger there; Shuri is two years older than Peter, and Tony doesn’t know that tree enough to know how old he is. It didn’t matter, Peter is a child still. And he has yet to ask help from Tony. 

“Daddy? I’m ready to go.”

Tony looked down to find Morgan holding her weekend My Little Pony rucksack over her back, staring wide-eyed innocent up at him. 

“Alright,” Tony said gently. “Say goodbye.”

Morgan ran up to May who very easily picked the little girl up and gave her a soft kiss to her cheek. Morgan said thank you for having her for the weekend before May placed her back on the ground. 

“I’ll see you soon, May,” said Tony, placing his bandanna back on along with his glasses. 

“See you, Tony. Tell Peter to give me a call when he gets back.” 

Tony was about to tell her that she should call him. But then he knew her intentions. She just wanted to talk. And she wanted to give Peter the chance to talk to her instead of just forcing him by phoning him. 

“I will, May.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the elephant morgan won peter ? yeah , its based off of my own plush elephant ( don't judge me ). ice age was my shit when i was younger. 
> 
> stay safe out there <3


	6. there is no discretion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter struggles to come to terms with himself and Tony wants to understand why Peter never told him about D.C.

Peter didn’t speak much on their way back home. He felt dirty in his skin. The clothes he wore yesterday have been thrown away. A short-sleeved plain tee, dark jeans and the underwear he wore. All gone and never to see the light of day again. He never wanted to touch anything that a monster had ever again. That didn’t mean he couldn’t see him. Skip had told him he would hurt Morgan if Peter didn’t stick by him. He was  _ not _ going to let that happen.

During the first hour, he tried interacting with Ned as much as possible. But even after the event of this morning, Ned isn’t his usual chipper self. If Peter’s lungs could have kept them to themselves then Ned wouldn’t be so suspicious of his mental state. It wasn’t a topic both of them ever touched on that much, and Peter didn’t want to start any sooner than he did later. 

By the second hour, he turned himself towards the window and texted Happy to see if he could pick Peter up from school and take him home. He got a simple ‘Ok, kid.’ a little to ten minutes later. He further elaborated on telling Happy he would let him know when the school bus is nearing his school. A ‘Sure.’ came back and Peter plugged in his earphones and played any shuffled song on his Spotify playlist.

Ned allowed him some peace. Peter leaned his head against the window of the bus. It was cool against his seemingly boiling forehead. He wasn’t sweating but he felt as if he could break out into a hot flush anytime soon. His hands were still shaking, heart-thumping widely against his delicate rib cage. He was terrified. Something he wasn’t used to feeling. Granted, when Adrian Toomes opened the door to the house Peter was meant to be picking Liz up from, his heart had skipped a beat out of pure horror. He wasn’t that scared little boy he used to be anymore, so he had sucked it up and mentally planned on what the hell he was supposed to do in that dire situation. After Toomes, he realised that his dad wasn't always going to be there. (Not that Peter ever blamed the man. All children have to learn to be independent one way or another. Some more extreme than others). Peter realised that he had to take care of himself for a change. Even being on Titan before Thanos didn’t terrify him as much as Skip had.

_ (but that’s because tony had been by his side) _

The thought was persistently on his mind. From the moment he stepped onto the bus, to the garage stop, and towards school. He didn’t speak to anyone once. He went as far as to shut his eyes to make it seem as if he was asleep. It didn’t work for Ned. The guy had had enough sleepover’s to know of Peter’s sleeping patterns. 

“Dude, we’re here.”

Peter had  _ nearly _ fallen asleep. His entire body seemed to creak with each movement. Lethargic energy overtook his body as soon as he stood up. But he recovered well by following Ned off of the bus without face-planting the pavement beneath him. 

“Who's picking you up?” Ned asked just as he waved over to his mum. “You need a ride back with us?” 

Peter felt guilty about not letting Ned know. His best friend still thinks he’s grieving for his father when it was the opposite. Ned and MJ had been stepping on eggshells around him for months when they mentioned their dad’s. It wouldn’t have bothered Peter if his dad had died on the battlefield. It shouldn’t stop them from speaking of their dad’s just because his dad had gone. It would have hollowed his chest to a state of unbearable mourning, but he would of had to of moved on eventually. And luckily for him, he wasn't the orphan the media deemed him as. Tony nearly flipped his shit when he saw the news. Although the man had kept his children out of the media as much as possible (simply because he tried giving them as much of a normal life as he could. He’s had his fair share of suing people who had previously uttered a single bad word of Peter and Harley) but it seems as if the media loved that Tony was dead. They could speak ill of Peter more so than Morgan and Harley. It stemmed because Peter was motherless also. Peter couldn’t care less.

Peter internally rolled his eyes at the thought and looked back at Ned. “Happy is, Ned.”

A hand made its way to grip at Peter’s shoulder. He suppressed a flinch, knowing that it was his friend offering the comfort he could provide. Peter appreciated it no matter what. The touch was gentle; it was  _ Ned.  _ He could never be afraid of his friend. 

“Text me when you’re back home?” Ned had that worried look in his eyes again. Yet he still managed a small smile to bring out his old self, knowing it would cheer Peter up a little. The boy at hand smiled back. He didn’t know whether it reached his eyes or not—he’s quite the actor when he wants to be. 

“You know I will.” It was a force of habit. They don’t do it every time they get home from school. After enduring a hectic day, they would text. After Spider-Man, it didn’t exactly matter. Apart from Karen speaking in Peter’s ear, Ned sometimes joined in on the missions—Peter’s Guy in the Chair. He only joined when Peter called him, needing some company, or when the nights are a little busy. 

By the time Happy arrived, everyone else had left. Apart from Mr Harrington, who patted Peter on the shoulder for a job well done and sent him off. 

It wouldn’t be much of a red flag for Happy if he sat in the back. He does it when he’s tired. Maybe Happy would draw up the window barrier between them to give Peter some privacy. Or, on a whim, automatically roll it up after Peter’s first hello to keep from the teen rambling for a couple of hours until they're home. 

Once he reached the car, he firstly placed his suitcase in the boot. Then his hand went to the back seat car and slipped his lithe body along the expensive, leather seats. 

“Hey, kid,” Happy greeted. He didn’t seem to be in a bad mood. Nor did he seem to be in a chirpy mood. (The last time Peter saw Happy vaguely happy was that one Christmas back in Malibu years and years ago). 

“Hi, Happy,” returned Peter. He pulled his seatbelt on, dumping his rucksack on the right seat. He made sure to keep his eyes by the rear-view mirror, watching as Happy looked at him as if he would disappear. Ever since Tony had retired, he’d become a bodyguard for Peter. And because it’s an excuse to hang out with May. Which Pete is becoming suspicious of. “How are you?”

“You okay, kid? You never ask me how I am.” There was a hint of amusement behind his words. Peter, once again, appreciated the effort to cheer him up; grateful for the family that surrounded him. He’d been taking them for granted lately; he didn’t seem to realise the people he had around him would be there to protect him. Maybe he can call out— “Kid?”

Peter blinked back into reality. His mind seemed to be wasting away today. Not paying attention to those around him—their words blurring into a grey mist. He was drugged last night. Perhaps these were side effects? But they couldn’t be. Peter wasn't that naïve to think that. He was scared of what could happen next. 

He had to answer. “I’m offended,” he said in a mockery of bewilderment. “I always ask how you are.”

Happy chuckled. “Right, right. That’s your brother. My apologies.” 

“So you should be.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest, a playful glare aimed at the man for good measure. Happy took it, understanding Peter’s childish humour. Had he sold the act to Happy? It wasn’t as if he was selling it; seeing his uncle had made him forget, if only for a little while. 

_ (just pretend it didn’t happen, peter. it’s fine) _

Nothing happened if he pretended it didn’t. He could have fought back and he decided not to. That’s his fault. 

“Sure you’re alright, kid?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, just a little tired.” He should have sold it. Thankfully so, Happy left him alone after that. He let his head fall to the window once again, closing his eyes, just wanting this day to be over.

It wasn't as if he couldn't sleep. Peter doesn’t sleep. Not because he can’t, but because he can’t find the motivation  _ to  _ close his eyes. If he was in the middle of a mission in Horizon? He would stay up until he had the damn quests done. Good fanfiction he had found? Why not resist closing his eyes until four o’clock in the morning? Simply wasn't tired enough? How about some Spider-Manning?

Tony had scolded him upon his obnoxious sleeping habits (despite the hypocritical statement putting the man to shame) but he drew it out as an insomniac trait. Or, even worse, nightmares. And… Peter doesn’t get nightmares. His dreams are blank. Dusted with no evidence as soon as he wakes in the morning. On the odd occasion, he would have these repetitive dreams, continuations from the last. It tended to happen when he was stressed and high on anxiety.

However, this is soon debunked when he sees something as he closed his eyes. It is indistinguishable. The monster had no face. But his voice dropped venomously. Each word almost jolted Peter from his sleep in the car, but never once managed to fully rouse him. Claw-like nails imprinted bruises into his delicate skin and scratched each surface of layered walls he had built up for years against monsters. But… they were never this mean; this  _ cruel.  _

Peter woke up with a small gasp, eyes flying open and with the faint call of his name.

“Peter? Kid? Wake up. We’re home.”

“Dad?” Peter mumbled, sitting up and wincing at the pull of his skin against the tiny bump against the window. 

“No, it’s just Happy. But your dad is indoors.” 

Peter yawned tiredly, feeling the remains of his dream cataract into brittle among his vision. He couldn’t remember it, but it left him startling awake. Not enough to alert Happy. Not enough that the dream meant anything. Why had he dreamed at all in such a short time? 

“In fact… your father is now opening the door and looks incredibly pissed off.” Happy swivels his body around to adjust to looking the Peter. “Do anything wrong?” 

“Shit…” Peter mutters under his breath. Reaching over, the teen grabbed the straps of his rucksack, unbuckled his seatbelt and started to open the door. “Nothing, Happy. That’s just his resting face.” Before Happy could begin to protest (because Tony Stark does  _ not  _ have a resting bitch face), Peter was out of the car, thanking his uncle for the ride home and shut the car door. He grabbed his suitcase from the boot of the car before even thinking of going up to Tony. 

All he could hear was the beating of his heart. He couldn’t brave glancing up towards Tony who would surely have a lecture bubbling up in his throat right about then. It took a lot to push Tony’s buttons when it came to his children. The situation was scary for Peter. He wasn't scared of his dad, but watching Tony become so upset and angry is something Peter hated seeing.

When he looked up, he was surprised to find no rage building up behind those tired eyes. As Happy told him, he looked pissed—Peter can distinguish the furrowed eyebrows and pinched line of his lips. There sat no such anger behind the façade he had on Peter.

“Hey, Dad…” said Peter, shrugging off his rucksack so it hung off his shoulder. 

Suddenly, he was pulled forwards into Tony’s chest. Arms wormed their way around his back and his father's cheek rested on the crown of his head. Peter didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around his dad’s waist, though it was a little awkward. Confusion flooded him. Tony found out he was in D.C. rather than at May’s. He should have thought of this. But Tony never asked; he had no reason to tell him. Maybe he should of. No—it’s not a case of  _ maybe;  _ he  _ definitely  _ should have told him. 

“Um—”

“You’re in trouble, mister,” Tony mumbled into his hair. He pressed a kiss to his forehead before pulling back, holding Peter's shoulder and staring at him with a pointed, stern look. 

“Dad—”

“Uh, uh, hush up, okay?” Tony raised a pointed finger and Peter immediately shut his mouth. “Get inside.  _ Now.” _

__ Peter thought too soon. Tony  _ was _ angry. 

As asked, he followed Tony inside. He closed the door behind him, his shoulders slumping at the mere fact that he was inside of his house. Safe and sound. Morgan is here, and he hoped Pepper is also here. Knowing that everyone he loved was safe was enough for him. 

Tony led his son towards the living room. He looked back at the teen and frowned a little. “Hey, Pete?” The boy in question looked up. There: that was where Tony could see it. He doesn’t think Peter was aware of it, but qhat Tony saw before him was a little boy cowering from the darkness, from the bolt of lightning and thunder. Tony saw this look whenever his youngest had come home from school. Tiny bruises pinched into his puny arms and skinny, short legs littered with scrapes and marks from someone else. This time, Tony saw no bruises. His son was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, no hint of trying to hide any injuries. It wasn’t as if his shoulders were hunched around his ears. His eyes roamed anywhere but his father’s eyes, and in those eyes, for once, Tony could not work out what was bothering him. Something happened, and he couldn't differentiate why his son was acting as if he didn't belong inside their home. 

“Yeah?” His voice was the same. No quiver or ambience of skittish behaviour. 

“Just place your things in your room and meet me in the lab.” Tony didn’t want to intimidate his teenager. Taking Peter down to the lab would hopefully calm him down. He needed to talk to him about the weekend. He wasn't there to ground him again, nor was he there to shout at him. He just wanted to know how and why it happened. 

Peter nodded and said nothing else as he made his way upstairs. 

Tony sighed and made his way towards the kitchen. He immediately started the coffee machine and switched the kettle on. Any parent would notice if their kid is on edge. Right now, Tony could sense the anxiety radiating off of his child. He may not have shown it physically, nor the tone suggested otherwise, but eyes see all. And Tony could see that by searching, there was something wrong. 

Incomes the tell-tale of hot chocolate with a generous amount of whipped cream and marshmallows. Except, as Tony looks into their fridge, they have no whipped cream. Which was a little tragic for Peter. The kid loved whipped cream. 

With two steaming mugs, he made his way down another spiral of stairs, quite similar to the Malibu Mansion stairs, and came across the glass door entry. He opened the door, swallowing heavily at the darkness of the lab. He hadn’t used it in a long time. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., lights.”

“Welcome back, boss.”

“Good to be here, F.R.I.”

A show of lights illuminated the lab. None of the desks were as dusty as they should be. Tony may have not been down in the lab for months yet it didn’t stop Peter and Harley from coming down. Peter keeps it a lot neater than Tony ever did. Dum-E, U and Butterfingers whirled to life, excited little jitters at the sight of Tony.

“Hey, hey, my babies,” he greeted happily. Dum-E was the most excited and nearly managed to trip Tony over and spill the drinks everywhere. “I am tempted to fly you over to MIT right now.” Dum-E  _ whirred  _ sadly and dropped their head, but still followed after Tony. “Settle down. Daddy’s not gonna be working today.” Another sad  _ whir _ and the three robots retreated. They entertained themselves by moving around the lab. Granted, it is not as big as Malibu, nor the Tower or Compound, but Dum-E, U and Butterfingers seemed like happy little robots nonetheless. 

The familiar sound of pattering steps came down the stairs. Tony moved Peter’s hot chocolate to the right side of him where a stool sat for him. He didn’t say anything as he sat down other than a small ‘thanks’. Tony nodded at him and for a little while they sat in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable nor tense. It was neither a silence worth getting comfortable over. Tony knew where to begin. Peter didn’t.

The first question is  _ why— _

_ “Why  _ didn’t you tell me, Peter?” Tony needn’t explain what he’s asking. 

“I-I…” His voice cracked a little, placing the mug down. Already, it was half empty. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Tony said gently. There was no use in getting angry or too upset. His son was home and safe. “I just wanna know why; it’s that simple.”

“I thought – um – you know? —you were at a meeting,” Peter began to ramble quietly, “and I-I didn’ wanna get in the way. I know how busy you are now and you didn’t have to – uh – to miss a meeting—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony said hurriedly but softly enough to mute his son’s rambling. “You wouldn’t have been bothering me, Pete. How many times has your old man had to cancel a meeting just so he could see his kids win first prize at every science fair?”

There was a twitch of a smile. “It was only a few times—”

“Well, in my eyes, my kids are always the winners.” He leaned over and ruffled Peter’s curls. They weren’t styled neatly as they usually were—rather they fell like Hawaiin palm trees. No hint of mousse pushing an array of curls to stubbornly sit back against his head. Peter had told him one time that he hated his curls— _ why couldn’t he have been like Harley and had at least straight-enough hair to tame.  _ Curls are harder to cope with. He stopped complaining when Tony had told him that he ought to make the most of having hair like that—it’s thick and falls sweetly into his eyes. Tony never had curly hair. Neither does Harley or Morgan. There was a point in time—years ago—when Harley had refused to get his haircut and that caused his hair to be a mess of wavey, blonde strands, curling at the nape of his neck. It was Mary Parker who gave Peter those curls. 

“Seriously, kid,” Tony continued after pulling his hands away, “you know I would have cancelled for you.”

“I know…” It was dejected—it told Tony his kid would always put his dad—his  _ family _ —before himself no matter what.

“God, Peter…” Tony rubbed at his sore eyes. He had been up for a lot of the night, doing nothing in particular. He would have tinkered in the lab, but Pepper told him to give that a rest. “Peter, Peter … what am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, just as sincere as it had the first time he said it. 

Tony stood up slowly, opening his arms. “C’mere.”

Peter eagerly hopped off the stool and wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist. Tony placed a kiss to Peter’s forehead, one of his hands soothing down his son’s disgraceful state. “I love you so damn much, kid. You had me worry.” 

“I love you too, Daddy.” 

Tony's heart melted. It was so rare for Peter to call Tony that.

They stayed like that for a moment. When Tony started to pull away, he felt a little tug in his heart when Peter tried to stay in the hug for a little longer. How could he deny his boy a hug? 

There was a little sniffle and Tony panicked.

“Hey, hey, baby boy.” He pulled away and took his son’s face in his hands. Tears were swimming in the pools of brown irises. It snapped Tony’s heart in two. What had he done? Was it something he had said? “Hey, Bambi, what’s wrong? Tell me…” 

Peter shook his head and stubbornly wiped at his water-filled eyes. No such tears made an effort to bypass his eyes, which left Tony relieved. But he was confused and more worried. 

“Peter, did something happen at the decathlon?” He’s taking a wild guess. He was horrified to see a flash of – of  _ something  _ behind Peter’s eyes. He couldn’t quite catch it. For a brief moment, he looked petrified. “Peter…”

“Nothing, Dad,” said Peter, now beginning to fully pull away from Tony’s touch. “Nothing. Just—I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“You just scared me, kid. I’m not mad.” Tony’s thumb stroked underneath Peter’s eye, feeling the soft, damp skin. “Please don’t do it again.” Peter nodded. “Good boy.” He pulled his hand away. “Finish up your hot chocolate. You gotta unpack. You’ve got me for the entire week.”

Tony didn’t understand why Peter looked more than happy _ —relieved— _ for him to be home. 

“Give May a call later, will you, baby?”

“I will, Dad.” 

*****

Peter didn’t think much of it as he bid Tony and Pepper goodnight. He was happy. No thought of it crossed his mind once as they ate dinner, sat in the living room together, kissed Morgan goodnight and lounge in the living room. Only when Peter reached the top of the stairs and into the hallway mapping to each bedroom and one bathroom, he froze. His eyes lifted and found Morgan’s door. 

Inside, he could see her sidelight on as well as her night light. It didn’t light up her whole room, but enough that Peter became suspicious. He could hear nothing apart from the faint thump of her heartbeat. She wasn’t asleep. Something was up.

“Morguna?” Peter opened the door and found she was sitting up in bed, reading to herself. She smiled sheepishly and placed the book down against her chest. “Hey…” Peter was about to close the door then froze. He couldn’t close the door. Normally Morgan had the door open so the light from the hallway could seep in. Closing the door meant no way out. “What are you doin’ up, little miss?” He came forward and sat down on the floor, looking up at her thoughtfully. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said honestly. “Mommy said if I couldn’t sleep I should read.” 

“And why can’t you sleep?” said Peter, taking the book from Morgan’s chest and looking at the pages. Something about a horse—War Horse. From the yellow and wrinkled pages, he took a guess—it was Harley’s old copy. He had stolen this from his older brother back when he was little as well. It’s been well-loved and used. 

Morgan shrugged, her eyes finding her fingers, tangling them together. 

Peter sighed and did the sinful act of folding the corner of the page of the book. He always hated doing it, preferring a bookmark or thin strips of post-it notes for school books. But the book was old and past the point of keeping near.

After overgeneralizing his way of dog-marking the book, he placed it on her nightstand and stood up.

“Please don’t go, Petey.” 

Peter smiled gently. “I’m not going, baby. Just stretching.”

“Can you stay with me?” she asked quietly. “Until I fall asleep?” 

“Of course. Shuffle over.” 

Morgan gladly did so, creating plenty of space for Peter to lay next to her. He didn’t get under the covers, feeling a little too claustrophobic. In an instant, Morgan had her head laid on his chest and Peter wrapped his arm around her tiny shoulders, pulling her closer. He reached over with his other hand and soothed out her baby hair, soft and premature between his fingers. 

“Morgan?”

“Mm?” 

Peter let out a stuttered breath, his chest heaving. He could get through this. It was just the thought of  _ him _ that made him feel panicky all over again. “Do you like Skip?” 

He felt her nod a little against his side. “Yeah. He’s nice.” 

“What do you do with him?” He needed to know; after the weekend, he would never trust that man again. When he told Peter he hadn’t hurt Morgan, he hadn’t believed him. He needed to be sure. “Does he do anything with you that you don’t want to?” 

Morgan giggled. “Sometimes he wants to be the good guy—he wants to be Iron Man when defeating Thanos. Soooo, I have to be the baddie sometimes.”

“What else?” 

He couldn’t help but think Skip should always play as the bad guy. He plays the good guy all the time. How long had he been babysitting Morgan for? Dad had said it was a good couple of years. Had he done anything to Morgan in that time? She would have been too young to remember such an event. 

Peter couldn’t help but let out a small shiver at the thought, swallowing down today’s dinner he managed to consume.

“Wanna have my blankie, Petey?” Morgan said quietly. Before Peter could reply, Morgan jumped up with an excited, “ _ Oh! _ I forgot!” She cared little for putting her whole weight on Peter’s legs as she hung upside down to grab something from underneath the bed. Peter had to hold onto her waist so she wouldn’t fall and whack her head on the wood of her floor. She came back up, breathing a little heavily and red in the face. Peter frowned, carefully stroking her long fringe from her eyes and tucking it behind her little half-moon ears. In her hands, she held a very soft looking elephant; it was a light grey with a tiny trunk and brown, beady eyes. “I won this at the fair with Auntie May!”

The teen let himself relax as he smiled affectionately at the thought of May and Morgan’s proud little face. “Did you? Well done!” He tried to keep his voice light. No matter how much you love kids, it’s hard to act upon your boredom and fake your pride for such a small achievement. Then again, Morgan is one bright little girl. 

“It’s for you.” Morgan pushed the elephant onto his lap. “I won her for you; his name is Ellie. Short for Elliot.”

“Needn’t you be more original?” Peter mused, taking the elephant into his hands.

“Don’t be mean. That’s what Daddy said.” 

“Thank you, Morgan.” Peter leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re welcome. Now, you owe me a story.”

“Oh, do I now? What if I can’t read.”

“You can make one up.”

“Ahh!” Peter flopped down onto her pillow and the girl giggled. “My mind’s gone blank!” 

“No, it hasn’t!” Morgan slumped down onto Peter's chest which pretty much knocked the wind out of the teen. He didn’t let it show through, instead choosing to swoop his hands underneath Morgan and start tickling her. She let out a squeal of surprise, giggles that surely would reach the ears of Tony and Pepper from the living room. “Peter!” 

“How’s this for a bedtime story, little miss?” Peter laughed along with her, his fingers now jabbing at her waist and ribs. 

“Y-you’re not saying anything!” Morgan squealed again, kicking her little legs at Peter. It didn’t hurt. She’s like a feather compared to the people/creatures he’s taken on in the past. “Ah! S-Stop! Stop it, Pete! Have mercy!”

“Say you’ll go to bed?” Peter tempted, still digging his blunt nails into her sides. “Or the tickle monster won’t stop!”

“N-No! Stop! Stop! Please, Petey!” Morgan laughed.

_ (no, stop, stop it!) _

Peter froze, his movements to Morgan stopping completely. He retracted his hands from Morgan, feeling disgusted with himself. 

_ (she was telling you to stop it, why didn’t you?) _

Peter swallowed around the lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have done that. She was telling him to stop, just like Peter had – just as he had told—

“Petey? Are you okay?” 

Peter snapped out of his daze and instantly smiled at his baby sister. She was content with this and let out a breathy giggle—a little out of breath. 

She’s fine. It’s just a normal tickle fight. When they say stop it was because the bodies respond to an autonomic emotional turmoil. The body doesn’t like being tickled—people laugh because they’re in pain. Begging someone to stop meant you  _ must _ stop. And Peter didn’t. He was just as bad as—

“I won’t make you tell me a story if you stay with me.”

Morgan was struggling to sleep tonight. All she wanted was for her big brother to keep her safe and protect her. And Peter will provide her with that safety. 

“Alright. Let’s tuck you in.”

Morgan lay down in her bed as Peter tucked the plush duvet over her shoulders. He took the elephant in his arms, his heart hammering wildly in his chest—

_ (just pretend it didn’t happen. it never happened) _

“I love you, Petey.” Morgan yawned, head resting on Peter’s upper thigh as he sat back against the headboard. His hand was already in her hair, playing with it softly.

“I love you, too.”

Her breathing didn’t even out until fifteen minutes later. Peter didn’t stop the hair-playing. Morgan was quite a light sleeper. It seemed as if he would be sitting there all night. 

In the midst of this, he carefully leaned over and turned her side-light off. All that illuminated the room was the light from the hallways and nightlight. 

Peter rubbed at his eyes, looking down at his sister's head in his lap. By her head lay the elephant she gave him. He’s never been a big fan of plushies. He was more into action figures and technology when he was younger. The only plushies that sat on his bed was his sixteen-year-old brown bear that was a gift from his mother and Richard when he was born, and the small fourteen-year-old dog Tony gave him when he was two. Having a third will make a lovely triangle number—he hated how balanced everything seemed to be nowadays. 

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out, finding the I.D.  **_May_ ** with a little smiley emoji next to her name. He answered, keeping his voice down.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Peter. Forget to call me?” Her voice was borderline amusement, but a little hysterical all the same. 

Peter sighed. “I’m sorry, May; Dad did remind me earlier. I just forgot. How are you? What’s up?”

“What happened this weekend?” she demanded in her I-Don’t-Want-To-Lecture-You-But-I-Will-Anyways voice™. 

He went into it, telling her exactly what he had told Tony. From the confusion to the guilt—he never did lie once. He never told anyone he was spending the weekend at May’s. But he also never said he was spending the weekend in D.C. 

There was a hefty sigh on the other end of the phone. “Okay, okay. I worry about you, you know?”

“I know, May. I know.”

“You can talk to me, okay?”

The anxiety’s there again. He pushed it down. “Yeah. I will.”

“Alright. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” Peter said before he hung up. 

He was tired. He was  _ so _ tired. He can’t sleep. What if Skip comes back? He’ll hurt Morgan, hurt his Dad. Oh God, what if he found it in himself to fly over to MIT and hurt Harley? 

For a while, Peter didn’t think he could ever sleep again.


	7. ocean ice cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony takes Peter out for some ice cream for a little catch up.

As soon as Peter made it to school on Monday morning, Ned promptly bombarded him with some news.

“Did you hear?”

“H-Hear what?” Peter stuttered out, pulling his rucksack strap over his shoulder more. The other one was hanging off limply with no bother to put it on. “Anything bad?”

Ned laughed, giving Peter a firm pat to his shoulder. “Don’t look so scared, Peter. Mr Harrington sent out an email last night; go on vacation—tour around Europe?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Wait …  _ really?”  _ They continued walking down the hall towards Peter’s locker. “And he’s sure he can afford that?” In any other tone, the sentence may have come out as rich and bratty. Peter never intends to say it like that, nor does he think like that; it came across as sympathetic and humorous at the same time. Most schools are always complaining of their lack of funds, and Midtown is no exception despite the fact they have a brilliant system and talented young-minds.

“There’s enough,” Ned said knowingly. “Parents have to contribute, obviously.” He raised his eyebrows at Peter and the other teen scoffed.

“Pepper isn’t  _ not _ going to contribute, Ned. She’s not like that.” Peter felt obligated to defend Pepper and his dad sometimes. Ned had never said anything bad about Tony, nor had he with Pepper. But for someone like MJ, who for some reason seemed to despise Tony, puts him off. She had never even met him; maybe never will, depending on how far their friendship goes. Peter just has a slight crush on her, fine, but if she’s going to talk smack about his dad then he won’t tolerate it. Granted, MJ hasn’t said a bad word since Tony sacrificed himself to save the whole universe. She even laid off of Peter for a bit, and in the end, it somewhat brought out the good in her. She wasn’t as rude to him or Ned anymore and even expresses her interest in their conversations. 

“N-No, of course, she is,” said Ned. “I just … with your dad and … I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely upset. In that moment, Peter couldn’t help but wince—he’d been lying to Ned this whole time. But the problem with Ned is that he can never keep his mouth shut. Peter was gobsmacked that he’d managed to keep Peter’s identity under control. However, Tony Stark/Iron Man was a completely different story. 

It didn’t mean Peter enjoyed acting as if his dad is dead. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quietly. He would be surprised if Ned could barely hear him; the buzz in school hallways stressed him out. Ned had heard him, mirroring his friend’s small smile. “Pepper is doing fine, Ned. She still loves me.” The joke is poorly timed and he knows he made Ned feel a little awkward. “Sorry…”

“No, dude, it’s fine.” It most certainly was not fine. Ned felt the need to change the subject. “You free anytime this week? Just to hang out?” It was the best thing Ned could do—changing the subject drastically to a positive note was what Peter had always appreciated. 

“I’m sure I am.” In the wake of speaking this, they finally reached Peter’s locker. He opens it, taking out his English Literature and Sociology ring-binders and putting away his Maths folder and a couple of books of biology he was carrying. “I can see what I’m doing; I’ll probably be able to come round Thursday at most. That English essay is killing me.”

“How far along are you with it?” 

Peter huffed out a little raspberry. “Umm – nearly half-way at least.”

“I’m not even that. It’s due in next Thursday. You planning on finishing it this week?” 

Peter nodded, shutting his locker. The two then travelling towards Ned’s. “Hell yeah. I can’t think of leaving it until the last minute. Unlike  _ some  _ people.” He raised an accusing eyebrow at the shorter boy. 

Ned raised his arms up in defence. “Hey, I got important shit to do.”

“Because building Lego's is more impor–actually, they are more important. I do apologise for thinking otherwise.” 

As soon as Ned had exchanged some of his folders and books from his locker, the bell rang for form time. There wasn’t much to come by once they made it. Their form teacher took the register, made sure none of the kids at the back of the room were fucking about and seated the rest of his time in a chair by the computer. 

Ned and Peter tended to sit by the corner near the back. They talk nonsense—what nerdy teenage boys would do with their time. They have never been bullied for their intelligence, nor their geekiness; the whole school is full of teenagers who had worked their wisdom to the bone. Peter is sure most of them worked hard to get here. Others may have paid the school well. His mind immediately focused on Flash Thompson, but the thing is, the boy is perceptive if he puts his mind to it. Which is why Peter has never gotten around to understanding why exactly the teen is jealous of him. Bar from being the son of Tony Stark/Iron Man. The point was that they were two socially awkward boys who do not fawn over girls nor watch or play football. They get teased, but not bullied. Plus, as shallow as it is, no one dared to agitate Peter Parker-Stark.

Understandably so, there was a meeting regarding the Europe trip with Mr Harrington between the team. They met up after the last school bell in their usual spot. 

“Here are the permission slips.” Mr Harrington gave a load of paper to Flash who was sat by him. Flash handed them down the table, grumbling about why the date on the slip was so specific. Pathetic thing to grumble about, Peter thought as he took the slip from Betty. “Because that is when we start arranging the dates and times and financial issues of this trip, Flash.”

Peter’s lips quirked up at the flat tone of his teacher. Flash wasn’t embarrassed, just seemed more peeved off. Whoever pissed in his cereal this morning clearly wasn’t aware of how his bad mood can affect everyone on their team. 

“I want to congratulate everyone for this weekend.” With Mr Harrington’s clap, everyone else joined in. “It’s been a short term for you guys to catch up on. And because of certain changes, I would like to introduce you guys to our new members. Kids who joined before the Blip.”

Peter didn’t pay attention as a few new kids walked in. They replaced the old ones—the ones who were now either in University or in the outside world, with jobs, creating a family to live with. Things Peter should be doing round about now. He supposed he had never been more grateful that Ned was Snapped as well. If Ned wasn’t by his side, he wouldn’t know what to do. Knowing that his best friend would have gone to University without him, (depending on whether they go to the same one or not was a bridge not to be crossed) would have crushed him. Because his dad had moved on (not that Peter would have wanted it any other way) and had gotten married and had a little girl. The thought sometimes caught up with him—it leaves him feeling hollow and unwanted. The few students that had waltzed in and replaced the old friends he used to know reminded him that he had missed out on five years of his life. He’s not even sure if Liz had survived the Snap or not. A selfish part of him hoped she didn’t. It wasn’t as if he kept in contact with her. All he knew was that Betty and another girl (now in University) had kept in touch. And Peter’s too meek to ask Betty about her. 

There was this guy named Brad that Peter immediately disliked. Which is rare for him. After ignoring his spider senses this weekend, he supposed the uncomfortable buzz behind his ringing ears were telling him that Brad was trouble. 

He’s smooth—perfectly gelled hair and winning smile. Winked at MJ, which was a stupid move. Peter was surprised she didn’t stand up and smack him across the face. Then again, MJ wasn’t one for physical violence. But she definitely looked a little uncomfortable and sent an unamused look at Betty who rolled her eyes. 

“Is MJ still captain?” Ned spoke up after a moment.

Mr Harrington nodded. “I don’t see why not; we didn’t exactly have a solid system at all these past five years. Lilly, you don’t mind resigning?”

Said girl nodded with a patient smile. MJ seemed to appreciate it as much, accepting her role as captain once again. 

For the people who were Snapped, it was like in the blink of an eye. Even for Peter, who experienced a spiking amount of pain when he begged his dad to save him—

_ “Please, I don’t wanna go…” _

_ Stop thinking about that.  _

He woke up, the pain miraculously gone, bar from the few cuts and other injuries he had sustained when trying to beat Thanos on Titan. And the ache around his neck from being strangled by the mad titan. Apart from that, his spider senses were not on fire, screaming at him to do something; to do  _ anything. _ It didn’t work. And all he could do in the end was apologise to his dad, for letting himself die—knowing, no matter what he would tell him, Tony would always blame himself. 

“That’ll be all for today. Practise starts as usual next Monday. Come prepared, everyone. Another job well done.”

Another round of applause escaped Peter for a second time. His eyes keep wandering elsewhere, his ears trying to block out every sound as much as humanly possible. MJ had a funny look in her eye towards him when he stood up and tried decamping from the group as rapidly as possible. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe again. He wasn’t hyperventilating; he wanted to get home to Tony.

As he made his way to the front entrance, ready to swing his way home, his phone buzzed, signalling a text. 

**dad:** _ Hey, kiddo. I’m outside.  _

What? Why was his dad picking him up? Wasn’t that the definition of, and he quotes, ‘ruining my entire retired existence if I’m spotted’? 

_ ok?? _

__ He’s no clue as to why he typed and sent that out. Of course, his dad wasn’t going to give him a straight answer. 

**dad:** _ No questions asked. I got a little something for you.  _

__ There’s the answer he was half expecting. Tony wasn’t going to explain until he shows Peter what was happening. The second part, however? —that was an utterly different story. There was nothing Tony could give Peter at that moment. Technically, he shouldn’t be driving. (That didn’t stop him from driving Peter to school on Friday). His arm was half-paralysed, and Peter was going to haunt the shit out of Tony if his own dad ends up killing him in a car crash. 

__ Peter saw the familiar gleam of his dad’s favourite Audi and slipped in without any trouble.

“How was your day, kid?” Tony asked as Peter slides his seatbelt on.

The teen shrugs, turning around and dumping his bag on Morgan’s car seat in the back. “Not much. Just the normal.” 

“Yup—stupid question, I know.” The off-handed comment was sarcastic, but Peter felt a jolt of guilt for not being as enthusiastic as he should be for spending a little time with Tony. He should take advantage of this; as much as he adored his baby sister, you tend to take up a lot of time because you’re the youngest. Morgan takes up a lot of Tony’s time. 

“Sorry,” said Peter once Tony shifted the car from first to second gear. “School was just the average day.” 

“You feeling alright?” Tony reached over and soothed some of Peter’s falling fringe from his eyes. He suppressed flinch. 

“When is Ned allowed in on the secret?” 

Silence filled the car. The sound accompanying the ringing in Peter’s ear was the buzz of the car’s engine. It was tense, and Peter has a feeling he wasn’t supposed to ask that type of question. 

“I don’t know, Pete,” Tony answered eventually. He sounded troubled at the query as if he were contemplating whether or not the idea of telling Ned was in his books or a lifetime of never knowing. Over the years of Ned being Peter’s friend, Tony had come to really like him. The boy had always been so good to Peter. He was his son’s first friend who didn’t want to use Peter for his father’s fame and wealth, who saw Peter for who he is. That is something Peter (and also Tony) would always appreciate about Ned. 

“Sorry…” Peter repeated, averting his eyes from Tony’s profile. His fingers itch to reach out to his dad’s hand; to take it, to hold him close. But he refrained, fearing Tony would pull away. (Nevermind he’s got both hands on the steering wheel). ”I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Bambi.” His dad’s words spoke affection, but because of Peter, the tone was strained and perhaps a little put-off. “I can’t answer that right now.”

“I understand.” Peter nodded and turned his gaze in front of him. “Where exactly are we going?” The teen didn’t recognise the route they were taking; it made him think of the other night—when Skip had taken him down a route unfamiliar to his eyes. It was even worse because he didn’t live in D.C. He had no way of acknowledging the road nor the trees they passed. And for that, it made Peter a little nervous despite being with the person who he feels the most protected by.

“Somewhere,” Tony replied.

_ (it’s dad. he would never hurt you) _

“Dad … can you please tell me?” Peter can feel the sweat spurring at the back of his neck by his hairline. 

“I told you it’s a secret—”

_ “Dad.” _

Tony flinched in surprise at his son’s sharp tone. When he looked to the side for a brief second, he found Peter’s irises wandering the car anxiously, as if he didn’t know where to look. His hands were in his lap, tangled within their grasp and shaking slightly. 

“Hey…” He said that a lot. Did with Harley, to Peter and now to Morgan. It’s the only way to really grab ahold of his children’s attention to calm their worries. “Hey, Peter, it’s okay. I just…” He sighed, switching gear to slow the car down, one hand holding a tight grip on the steering wheel. “It’s isolated. Where no one will … know us, really? I can’t be too sure. In fact, Pepper might murder me for this. But I wanted to spend some time with you. It’s been a while since we got ice cream together, hasn’t it?” Maybe spending five years with Morgan had resorted into Tony using a more childish tone with his kids. Harley told him to stop it, but Peter never did. So he wasn’t going to give up on using it with Peter. In a way, Peter will always be his baby boy. It was perhaps why he felt more obligated to protect Peter more so than he might with Harley, even though Peter can protect himself physically more so than Harley. 

He saw from the corner of his eye that Peter had relaxed a little. “That … that sounds great. Yeah…” He trailed off a bit, untangling his hands from one another, the shake subsiding a bit. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Tony scoffed. “I won’t. I said the place was isolated. I needed some ice cream with you. And I’ve noticed you’ve been a little on edge after this weekend. Anything you want to tell me?” He made his voice light. He didn’t want to upset his child. 

“No. I guess the adrenaline rush from the competition still hasn’t worn off.” This followed with a little laugh. It was fake. Tony could tell. But he wasn’t about to force Peter to talk. 

A little while later, they arrived in a secluded area. Hardly any people walked the streets. Shops seemed to be a little run down, on the verge of closing in the next year or so. But it was a place Tony was very familiar with. Years and years ago, his mother had taken him here, away from the spotlight that was continuously sported on him by his father. Every month his mother would bring him here for ice cream. No one recognised them. But they were friendly, smiled, waved, welcomed them to their little village. Tony had taken Morgan here a few times in the last five years; he did it to escape. He had never taken Harley nor Peter here, simply because he’s always been so preoccupied with everything else; the business, Avengers, living within the Malibu Mansion and Avengers Tower/Compound. In all the years Harley and Peter blessed his life, he never once thought to take them here. Now, he felt guilty, almost selfish for not sharing an intimate moment he had with his mother with his boys. He promised himself he would take Harley here when he’s back from MIT. 

“Welcome to  _ casa mia,”  _ Tony said with a large grin. 

“Where are we?” questioned Peter, perplexed. “I’m not being funny but this definitely was not your home when you were a child.”

Tony placed the car in park, taking his seatbelt off and turned his attention back to Peter. “My mother used to take me here for ice cream. I did so with Morgan. Now it’s your turn.”

Peter’s tongue poked out from between his slightly crooked teeth. “You’re sweet, you know that?” And with a click, he was out of the door. 

_ “Excuse me?”  _ Tony spluttered, mirroring his son’s actions and shutting the door behind him, F.R.I.D.A.Y. automatically locking the door. He found his youngest son with a cheeky grin on his face, tongue still poking out and curls array in tangles among the wind that picked up with the autumn. “Who are you callin’ sweet?”

“Tony Stark,” Peter cheekily replied, “Man of Iron, Born of Steel.”

“You little brat.”

This only seemed to encourage Peter more. “Morgan has definitely brought on the softer side of you.”

The mood was gone from Tony’s chest. Although Peter was clearly joking, something tells Tony that his baby  _ meant _ those words. Soft and caring, but a little sad. Because, yes, Tony had become sappier with Morgan. That was because he didn’t have to focus on avenging as such; he retired (for good at the time) and was grieving the loss of not only one but two of his children. In a way, Morgan had replaced his son’s, but not intentionally. And when Morgan was born, he swore to himself that he would be better with Morgan. Despite what his friends had told him (Pepper, Rhodey, May, Bruce, even Natasha) that he was always the best father he could be. The guilt at not being able to be there for them nor being able to protect them both from the Snap tore something in Tony he couldn’t begin to describe. And as soon as his sons were reborn from the dust they left behind, he had  _ tried _ to be better. In his eyes—he could never know what his boys really thought of him. 

There was no mistake of the pure and utter affection Peter had for Tony. And Harley equally adores his father as such—he just doesn’t show it as much as Peter. Tony was oblivious to both his boys’ sentiment from his lack of confidence in himself.

“Sooo…” Peter bounced a little on the balls of his feet. “Where is the ice cream?”

With a double-take on the locked car, he nodded and took his son under his wings, letting Peter decide how close he wanted to be by his father’s side. Which didn’t take long to decipher—the teen immediately gravitated to Tony’s side, snuggling him, not caring they were in a public place. After all, this area of New York was secluded and respected for one’s privacy. 

“Mom used to take me here—away from the spotlight.” Tony gestured to a small little shop. The simple word of **_‘Ice Cream’_** written in bold, bouncy letters was nostalgic to Tony. He smiled at the faint memories of him and his mother; of him and Morgan. 

“It’s cute,” he heard Peter murmur. His son continued his snuggling, even as they reached the front desk of the little ice cream shop. A couple of people were inside and he felt Peter tense up beside him. He frowned, releasing his son a bit if only to get a good look at Peter’s face. But the boy clung to him like a koala bear with separation anxiety from their mother. Or in Peter’s case, his father. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” Tony mumbled, rubbing Peter’s upper arm from where his own arm curled around his son’s shoulders. 

“Y-Yeah,” said Peter, “just … won’t anyone recognise you?”

Was that really all he was worried about? His old man?

_ (it’s peter; sweet, selfless peter. of course, he would put everyone else’s needs before his own) _

__ Tony chuckled lightly. “No, bud. Trust me on this one.”

They walked up to the counter where a man stood. He was clearly above the age of sixty, a little plump, sporting tufts of white whiskers and little hair on the top of his head, which was mostly covered by a tattered, once colourful looking hat. 

“Tony!” bellowed the man. Peter stiffened in Tony’s grasp and Tony had to try and keep himself from spinning his son around to face him and tell him why he’s so jumpy, so tense, so  _ clingy.  _ “Where’s little Morgan? Who’s this handsome, young fella?” His gaze was friendly, blue eyes gleaming and generally a very happy old man. Tony remembered him when he was much younger, married to a sweet lady, who sadly passed away years ago. Yet this man still remained a sunshine for this little shop. Morgan referred to him as the ‘Santa Clause of Summer’. Where she got the resemblance from, he will never have a clue.

Tony pulled away from Peter, simply so he would drag his son from this sudden bubble of protection he was making for himself. “Theodore, this is Peter. My son I told you about.” He failed to see the way Peter seemed to draw more into himself when Tony released him.

“Ah! Of course. It’s finally good to meet you, Peter.”

Peter straightened up a bit more, and Tony finally started to see  _ Peter  _ shine through. “H-Hi. Nice to meet you too, s-sir.”

“Yer’ father has told me a lot about you,” the man said happily. “I’m assuming you’re here for the ice cream and not for me to bore you to death with a conversation—what would ya like?”

“I’ll have the usual,” said Tony, his eyes boring down into the many tubs of delicious ice cream. He then looked towards Peter whose eyes were trained delicately on the various choices. “What do you want, Bambi?"

“What’s the blue one?” He pointed towards the ocean coloured ice cream. Half of it was empty, a popular choice. None of them had names underneath.

“That, my boy, is bubblegum,” said Theodore, already scooping Tony’s chocolate and pistachio ice cream with flake sprinkles and a single cone. “But it just tastes like vanilla. Sweet and worth trying out.” He finished with Tony’s as the man in waiting pulled out a couple of twenties. Nowhere near was it that expensive—the place is cheaper than any of the places Tony had visited in New York—but this man deserves as much as he can get.

“Okay.” A bashful blush coated his face. He dug his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Please may I have s-some?” 

Tony took his cone as Theodore started his scooping of the bubblegum ice cream. 

“Just the one?” said Theodore.

“I-I’ll have two scoops, please. Could I have a flake as well?”

“Comin’ right up.”

Tony handed the kind man the two twenties, accepting no change from the man.

They both settled into the booth in the corner of the shop. A little light rested above each table, a yellow glow to it, making it seem a little cosier, rather than white blinding them continuously. 

Peter admired his ice cream before him, taking a tentative lick. A look of satisfaction crossed his face before he dug in like Tony had with his own ice cream.

“You like bubblegum flavoured ice cream?” Tony’s face pinched into a look of disapproval and was happy to see a hint of a Peter Parker-Stark smile light up the boy’s face. “You are officially disowned.”

Peter pouted, nibbling on the crumbling flake. “It literally tastes like vanilla. With a hint of gum, okay?” He took another lick before shoving it in Tony’s face. “Try some. Don’t be a pussy.” 

Tony scrunched up his face in disgust. “I hate that word.” 

Peter rolls his eyes—the cheek of it. But both of them were smiling. “Okay, don’t be a baby then, Dad. It’s nice.” Peter wasn’t going to relent any time soon so Tony did as he was told, taking some of the ice cream into his mouth and sat back, judging the taste. “Not that bad…?” Peter took the ice cream back, watching his Dad. 

Tony shrugged, not actually minding the taste. It did very much taste of vanilla, with a hint of something much sweeter, which was obviously the gum. “It’s not bad.”

“Ha!” Peter giggled—music to Tony’s ears. He used to be a very giggly child, but it diminished the more he matured. What was he talking about? Peter never matured. He’s still the cooperation behind immature jokes and sarcasm, just like his older brother; just like his father. “I’m always right.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

They continued on with silly conversations. How is school so far, what are the meetings like? All the boring but important jazz. It wasn’t until they finish their ice cream that Peter’s smile deflated from his boyish features. His eyes were a little frigid, not moving to avoid looking at Tony. Seemingly in a daze.

“Pete? You okay, baby?” There was something definitely up with the teen. Ever since he came back from D.C. he’s been … agitated, almost. Confused? No, that’s not the right word—

“Yeah, uhh…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I – um – you—how long has Skip been Morgan’s babysitter?” 

Well, that came out of the blue. He thought for a minute, putting his confusion aside for a moment. “About two years, why?”

“What do you think of Skip?” Peter’s eyes were unreadable; his whole expression was unreadable. And Peter had the type of face that was easy to read. Especially to Tony. In that moment, the features was that of emotionless—it was eerie and Tony had to suppress the shiver that threatened to crawl up his spine. 

“He’s professional,” began Tony, “always on time, friendly, charismatic. He took an interest in Morgan.”

“Why?” Peter’s tone was a little pushy. 

Tony sat up a little more, taking the questioning a little more seriously. “Peter, what’s goin’ on?” 

“C-Can…” Peter sighed, a slight shake in his voice. “Um, just be careful around him, okay? I don’t trust him with Morgan.”

“Not you too…” Tony mumbled, a little aghast. “Harley was saying the same thing.”

“So he should,” Peter said pointedly. 

“Baby, nothing has happened,” Tony assured. “Your sister is fine. Is this what has been bothering you? Because I assure you, Skip is a professional; a man who actually happens to have a lady friend behind the scenes.” He watched as Peter’s eyes widened a bit. Tony took that as Peter’s guilt and realisation for accusing this man of such things. In a way, Tony could understand why his sons were a bit sceptical. Having gone five years in the blink of an eye will do that to you. “Or should I be worried?” Tony would have to jump in front of a bus before he let anything happen to his little girl. Should he be worried? By Peter’s hard swallowing, Tony’s heart dropped.”

“Please keep an eye on him.” 

So maybe Tony should be careful when Skip was around Morgan. Because from the terrified look in Peter’s eyes—which Tony can  _ finally _ read—was telling him that Morgan was in danger. 

“Don’t worry, Pete,” said Tony confidently, “I won’t let anything happen to Morgan.”


	8. enjoy the silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony ponders over what Peter had told him. Peter keeps a close eye on Morgan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): sexual assault
> 
> \- ‘A warm breath startled him by the nape of his neck and suddenly—’  
> \- ‘Then, it was over.’

Tony thought of what Peter said to him. The entirety of the week was spent watching Morgan’s movements. Her expressions, her behaviour—she’s the same old Morgan he’s grown to love. Still with an excitable persona, always with a cheeky smile on her face and snarky comments she’s picking up from her calls with Harley and hangouts with Peter. 

It was a situation Tony was not able to comprehend. He was supposed to be up-to-date with how things worked and he still was not understanding what Peter was getting at. Nothing that Skip had said sent him into protective overdrive. But it didn’t stop him from keeping an eye on Morgan. 

The next week when Tony had to go back to work again, there was an inset day for Morgan. The thought of leaving Morgan alone with Skip all day made him more than a little worried.

“Are you sure you’re up to looking after her today?” said Tony. He was after all spending the entirety of the day in Manhattan. Pepper would be back by the time Peter got home. Technically Skip wasn’t staying for the whole day. But knowing Pepper, she would let the man stay for dinner. And Tony didn’t have a problem with that … if it wasn’t for what Peter had told him. 

“I’m sure, Tony,” said Skip, placing a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder. Tony had the urge to shrug it off but decided against it. The guy was being who he was—a friendly and forthcoming person. “Morgan is planning on dragging me out to the park today—I think we have this all under control.” 

Tony smiled, watching carefully as Skip removed his hand and turned around. He leaned down so he was eye-level with Morgan.

“Tony, we have to go.” Pepper came from behind him, a gentle smile on her face as she watched Skip pick their daughter up and place her on his hip. “You behave yourself, little miss.” 

Morgan giggled and leaned her head on Skip’s shoulder, her eyes glowing—so full of youth and innocence. Nothing of that sort seems to have drained from her at all. Which is leaving Tony even more confused than before. 

“I will, Mommy. Skip and I are going to the park and getting ice cream!”

Tony may have to console Peter. The teen is being unbearably paranoid. It was unfair of him to accuse such actions on an … innocent man. 

“That sounds like a lot of fun, now doesn’t it?” Pepper nudged Tony, trying to involve him in the little conversation before they had to head out. She must have sensed his oblivion to the words coming out of everyone’s mouths. “I’ll be back before Daddy, okay? Skip, will you be staying for tea?” 

The man nodded, pushing some of his shocking white hair from his eyesight. Tony was sure the man dyes it an ashy-blonde, which is an odd look for someone nearing thirty, but he shouldn’t be one to judge considering the fact Harley will from time-to-time place blue or purple highlights in his hair. Tony expressed his distaste whilst Peter showed his appreciation; it went without saying that the first time Peter asked Tony if he could do the same and the man immediately shut him down, he never asked again. He could have easily glowered on Harley about the dye, but Harley is harder to discipline than Peter. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” said Skip, “unless you object? I don’t want to intervene—or be an inconvenience.” 

_ (he’s completely innocent, tony)  _

“Nonsense,” said Pepper. “Asking you to watch Morgan is an inconvenience on our part. You’re supposed to be in the meeting today.”

_ (it’s okay to just keep an eye on him, though)  _

“I’m not an  _ incoveenence _ .” There was a sweet pout on Morgan’s face at the implication of being, as quoted, an  _ inconvenience.  _ “I’m better than Harley is.”

Tony needed to say something. He pushed the thought of Skip destroying any bout of innocence his little girl still had and held a hand forwards, brushing Morgan’s hair from her eyes. She needed another haircut. “Ah, but are you more well behaved than Peter?” It was a little test; if Peter had seen Skip do anything to Morgan then maybe Skip would show some sort of reaction to his youngest son’s name being said. However, not so much of a twitch passed the man’s eye. Then guilt gnawed at Tony—both for Skip  _ and  _ Peter. Because after nearly three years, Skip had been a trusted friend. And if sixteen years of having Peter in his hands had taught him nothing, then he should feel ashamed; he knew that if Peter saw anyone ever acting upon his little sister in such a way—or anyone for that matter—he would promptly step in and stop the act before it became too late.

It was time to stop thinking of such things. It had been over a week of observing Morgan and finding no results of distress. No further skittishness roamed Peter; perhaps a little quieter, but he’s been like that since Titan. 

“Yes, I am.” Morgan’s voice was high and still offended. “Petey said so.” And she was smiling again. Because that was what Tony wanted her to appear as; he doesn’t want Morgan to have a single frown on her face if her life threatened a single difficulty like it had done with Peter and Harley. 

Tony leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you later, Bambina.” 

“Bye, Daddy. Bye, Mommy!” She pulled her arm from around Skip’s shoulder and waved. 

“Bye, sweetie.” Pepper gave her a little kiss as well before both parents were out of the door, ready to start their day. 

Happy was waiting by the car. His hair was a little devilish, beard growing more.

“You alright, boss?” Happy asked. His eyebrows were furrowed ever so slightly. The thing was, Tony had got quite good at mastering his emotions, especially after losing Harley and Peter. However, Happy is an observer. He may not be Tony’s full-time bodyguard anymore, (because he is assured by Pepper and Tony himself that the house is fine without Happy needing to guard it 24/7) opting as Peter’s instead, but he was one of the only people who could read whenever anxiety courses over Tony’s face. 

“I’m alright, Hap,” Tony said with a dismissive wave. He makes sure to quirk his lips into a smile for Happy’s benefit. The man still gives him a raised eyebrow but doesn’t comment further. 

_ Morgan’s fine,  _ Tony thought to himself as he got into the backseat with Pepper.  _ Peter is just being paranoid. _

Peter was probably so used to his overbearing protective family. Peter no longer needs that protection. The teenager was sixteen-years-old. 

Knowing that Peter’s strength remained superior to Captain America’s left Tony with a sense of catharsis. The need to worry came from a boat of fatherly instincts, and Tony knew that. Yet it was a mindset a parent never grows out of, and he can’t help that. Not that anyone was willing to stop him. However, Tony knew the complications and pressure that weighed on one's shoulders when an entire group was at stake; Tony saw that in Peter. The teen’s logic to protecting his family was perhaps a little too much for him, especially since it was Tony for their entire lives protecting them like a father should. With his retirement and miscommunications with the public, it had almost become impossible for Tony to keep that image alive. His family’s protection remained so inside of the lakehouse.

Sometimes the skittish behaviour Peter portrayed killed any hope Tony had for his son’s confidence. The kid’s been through too much for sixteen, yet Peter remained passive and unable to perform words to Tony. 

Was that bad parenting on  _ his _ part? What was Tony doing so wrong? Why had Peter been so paranoid about Skip? Why had Harley? The two seemed to be holding Morgan away from the man. Something must have happened—

“Honey?” 

The thoughts clouding Tony’s mind were stored in the back. He mustered a smile for Pepper yet she seemed unconvinced by the expression. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You can stay home and postpone this meeting for another day?”

Tony could do that. However, that meant, as Pepper had said, postponing the meeting for another day. And Tony would rather do anything but that. It was like homework; procrastinating was not a good thing. And Tony used to do it all the time. 

“I’m fine, Pep. A little tired.” 

He was met with the same concerned look that Happy had given him. Her gaze was soft, squeezing his uninjured hand softly. Since fighting on the battlefield, Pepper had been a little more than understanding of the struggles Tony has had to face over the years regarding trauma. Alas, the war among the battlefield left her shaken. How she had to almost watch the light in Tony’s eyes turn off forever. Her breathing would be stuttered out and the tears in her voice was evident without Tony having to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to switch the lights on. He would hold her and tell her that he was there, all of him, and wait for her to fall back asleep. She was not prone to nightmares like Tony seemed to be. 

There was the one rare time when Peter had admitted to Tony, a few months back, that he had experienced a bad dream, reliving watching his dad die, trying to call for him, saying—

_ “W-We won, Dad. We won… Daddy, ca-an you hear me?” _

The voice made him shudder. He’d never heard Harley nor Morgan call out for him to make the pain stop—

_ “I don’t wanna go—” _

__ Or to beg him not to die—

_ “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry…” _

Those cascaded into a flurry of thoughts and Tony pinched a little too hard at Pepper’s tender skin. She didn’t say anything. He could think of how Peter had admitted to fearing his dad’s death so much that he has had nightmares over it. Even before that. When Peter was a little boy, and after he got back from Afghanistan, his son had refused to sleep in his own bed for months. Harley had occasionally grouped with them, blue eyes shining with unwanted tears. The three haven’t shared a bed since the two were under the age of ten. Peter stopped coming to Tony at the age of thirteen, Harley at eleven. It was expected.

Tony and Pepper spent the entire ride up Manhattan holding hands. It grounded Tony. It was all he needed for the moment. 

*****

When Peter left for school that the morning, Tony had told him Skip was there for the whole day, babysitting Morgan. And he would be possibly staying for dinner. 

It caused an unsettling amount of anxiety. So he did the logical thing and texted Skip on his way to school on the train.

_ what time do you want me home? _

The message he got back after a while was simple.

**skip:** _ Spend as much time as you want away from me, Peter. I don’t always need to rely on you. _

Of course, Peter wasn’t having any of that. The implication was shining hazardously in front of his face. It made the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand up. He didn’t need a spider-sense to know something was wrong. 

_ please don’t. don’t hurt morgan _

_ i’ll come home right now _

The text in itself didn’t seem urgent. But Peter’s hands were starting to shake. The train full of people was making him feel claustrophobic and sweat began to form by his hairline. He was just about ready to quite literally jump out of the train and run back home when—

**skip:** _ I’m kidding, Pete. Keep yourself together. _

_ I want you home by 4:30.  _

Peter felt sick. He swallowed the breakfast he had this morning down his throat, feeling dizzy and frustrated. 4:30? He would have to make do and swing all the way home. If his calculations were correct then swinging home will take an hour less than it would take the train or allow Happy to pick him up. 

His frustration skyrocketed; Skip was  _ laughing  _ about this. What kind of sick person would joke about an assault on a child? Peter grit his teeth, hands tightening around the pole he was holding onto. 

If he was to get through the day, then he would have to calm himself down and work to his heart's content.

He sent a quick text to Happy explaining that he needn’t be picked up by him. He told him he was going to be spending the afternoon at Ned’s and be back in time for dinner. Happy wasn’t stupid, and most of the time Peter was sure his uncle was well aware of half the bullshit Peter sprouted out. But Happy was never one to intervene and stayed silent.

Peter gets the okay text from Happy at his lunch break. 

*****

By the time the teen had swung home, it was nearing 4:30 p.m. Some people had tried gaining his attention. After all, it had been a few days since Spider-Man had roamed Queen’s. But he couldn’t stay and help. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. 

He climbed in through his bedroom window, dropping his heavy bag full of folders and books onto his bed and changing from Tony’s first creation of the Spider-Man suit to the clothes he wore to school; his simple flannel collar shirt and sweater vest on top with baggy trousers. 

When he looked at himself in the mirror of his bathroom, he took a pause and breathed. No bags were under his eyes, but the irises themselves were a little dull—if not then they were tired looking. It had been over a week since he had last seen Skip and he hadn’t gotten much sleep since then. The nights he does sleep, he would wake up a few times, but that was because he had never been a good sleeper. His dad had no trouble reminding him that he was the most fussy sleeper out of his siblings. 

It only happened once so he’s fine, right?

Peter rolled his shoulders back and exited his room, putting on a brave face. If not for him, then for Morgan. She couldn’t know anything about this. She’s too young to understand. 

Before he reached the bottom Morgan was calling for him.

“Petey!” 

He then had an armful of Morgan, squeezing tightly around his waist. He stumbled back a bit, nearly falling over the front step of the stairs. His eyes caught sight of Skip coming around the corner to greet him and he found himself immediately looking back down at Morgan for his reassurance. 

“You okay? I only saw you this morning.” 

Morgan giggled, looking up at Peter. “Only for about five minutes. You went out the door without saying goodbye.” At this, Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out, putting on her best puppy eyes. Peter ruffled her hair and gently pushed her away from him, feeling tense at the prospect of spending the whole afternoon with Skip. 

“How was school, Pete?” Skip’s voice sent a cold flush up Peter’s spine. The goosebumps were not calming down anytime soon. And if Peter really couldn’t cope with being around Skip and looking vaguely ill every time he has to meet up with him, then he was going to have a rough couple of months. 

“It was good,” he answered politely. 

“Can you help us make some cookies for Mommy and Daddy?”

Peter slipped past Morgan’s small form but held out his hand for her to take. He turned his back to Skip. He smiled down at his little sister who squeezed his hand. “Define making cookies, little miss?” 

“The definition is making a huge mess of the kitchen,” she said with a cheeky grin. “But I propose we do not do that. Because Mommy wouldn’t be very happy.”

“I think so, too. So let’s try not to, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Morgan lets go of his hand and skips to the kitchen. Upon entry, everything was already perfectly laid out. From the milk, eggs, and butter, to the scales, mixing bowl, chocolate chips (good, because Peter cannot stand raisins) and the rest of other ingredients Peter wasn’t sure of. (He hates cooking and baking. He’s good at it, not that he likes to admit it otherwise his dad or May would find some way to make him cook. But cooking and baking is the simplified version of chemistry experiments to him. Though, he would rather do anything else rather than spend a good hour or two cooking something for it to be eaten within the next hour). 

“You happy to help us, Peter?” The way it came out sent a cascade of red flags in front of Peter’s eyes; this was the way Skip had always spoken to him. It should be so easy to act normal.

Skip slid past the teen, purposely ghosting a hand by his mid-back. Peter winced, taking a cautious step away. He had yet to look into the man’s eyes. He didn’t think he would be able to ever do so again. 

Peter struggled to answer the simple question. Speaking to Skip would open a can of worms that Peter would like to leave alone. “Yeah.” 

“Awesome. You can start with the basics. Morgan and I will mix. I don’t trust Morgan’s egg cracking skill’s.” His hand left Peter’s shoulder and ruffled at Morgan’s hair. She pushed his hand away, giggling. He turned to stare at Peter and the teen diverted his gaze to the mixing bowl. “You okay, Pete? Looking a little pale there.”

“Sometimes Petey gets very tired,” Morgan said (un)helpfully. 

Skip’s bottom lip jutted out. “ _ Awee… _ Do you need to lie down, Petey?” 

“No. I’m fine to make cookies, Morgan.”

“Skip was asking, Petey.” Morgan’s little frown was back. And bless her, it was of concern. Something no baby sister should concern herself with towards her older brother; the older brother who was supposed to protect  _ her.  _ “Go and sleep. Skip and I will take care of you after and give you our cookies.”

Peter strongly considered her innocent offer. Anxiety pooled his chest and before he knew it he was almost choking on air. He could not—by  _ any _ circumstances—leave Skip alone with Morgan. 

With that thought in mind, he leaned down so he was eye-level with a pouting, little sister. He smiled kindly, wanting to desperately reach over and hug her. He was craving that childish touch. So much so that the shaking of his hands returned. And something bitter arose, knowing he had missed the first five years of her precious life; because he wasn’t good enough; because he couldn’t kill Thanos. 

He forcefully brushed the wreck aside and focused on Morgan.

“Take a good look at me, Morguna,” began Peter, “do I look sick to you?”

“No.” Morgan shook her head firmly. “But you look sleepy. I won't be angry or sad if you don’t wanna bake with us.” Peter felt Skip’s gaze on the back of his head. It selfishly made it harder to concentrate on the child in front of him. “Daddy always said to be careful with you.”

_ Daddy shouldn’t be telling you something so ridiculous,  _ Peter thought and regretfully nearly said it out loud. Thankfully he didn’t; he needn’t have Morgan looking more defeated than she already was. He spoke, wanting to get this over with. “I’m fine, Morgan,” he said more firmly. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“If you’re sure…” A small smile appeared on her face now, gleaming with hope. “Could you make a start on the measurements, Petey?” 

Peter mirrored her smile, feeling better knowing he wasn’t alone. “Of course.” 

Skip didn’t try to protest or even speak with Peter any further as they began their measuring and mixing. He didn’t try to make eye contact with Peter, either. The teen knew that he should be worried about this, but wanted to live within the moment he had. Pretending that Skip hadn’t hurt him led him to imagine the domestic aspect of the current state. Yet Morgan continued to give him longing, sad looks. Every once in a while she would reach up and take his fingers away from the loose skin around his nails. When he lost track for a moment, she would snap him out of it with just the call of his name.

_ (she’s four—you’ve made her worry about you. that’s your fault) _

It had been a long time since Skip had said a word to Peter. There was no ghostly touches, no smirk, no eye contact. Peter should have known better—he should have known something was coming. 

Morgan told them that she needed the bathroom. Skip had placed the dough in the oven and he turned, once Peter had set the timer, smiling at the young girl. “Don’t be too long,” he said.

“I won’t be!” 

Now it was just Skip and Peter. Perhaps the teen should have made the excuse to have a bathroom break as well. He wouldn’t have to be alone with the man. Yet there was a voice in the back of his head that told him: what if he came out of the bathroom too early from Morgan? Or if he left too late, he could come back and discover the mistreatment Skip inflicted onto him on his baby sister. He couldn’t let that happen.

His mind was spiralling and his lungs were sinking. When he looked down from where he based his hands against the counter, there was a twitch, and if he moved them away, they would most likely shake.

A warm breath startled him by the nape of his neck.

He’s trapped; he’s trapped and he can’t move. His body’s fight or flight instinct vanished and suddenly, there were hands beside Peter’s own and a large chest pressed against his back. It felt as if he were back in his car again. He didn’t want to be—he told Skip no, but he hadn’t listened. His mind a mess and completely erased of knowing there was a panic button set on his watch. 

“It’s been so long…” 

Peter felt the tell-tale signs by his backside; he shivered at the butterfly kisses that were pressed along his neck. Tears began to well at the corner of his eyes.

Then, it was all over. 

“Petey, are you okay?” 

Morgan’s small voice had him choking on a dry sob, the tears in his eyes gone but his body still wracked with tremors. 

“Petey, it’s okay. Do you need to sleep for a little bit?” Tiny hands encircled him and it took all his might not to flinch away from the gentle touch. Because Skip was gentle when he first touched him. Then it turned brutal, and it  _ hurt— _ “Petey, do you wanna call Daddy?” 

“Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. Go and lie down.” Skip was wise to keep his distance for now. Peter didn’t think he could contain his mutated strength if he came near him at the moment.

Peter let his thumb smooth over the back of Morgan’s hand before letting go of her hands. “No, just a little dizzy, Morguna. I’m fine; I’ll sit down in a minute.” 

“Do you want Daddy?”

“No, no, Morgan. Daddy’s busy.” 

“You know Tony wouldn’t mind coming back home, buddy.” Skip’s hand was then on Peter’s shoulder. 

The teen tensed but with Morgan by his side, he was able to maintain his posture and carefully shrug off the offending hand. “No,” he said quietly. “We’ll just wait for the cookies to bake.”

“Only if you’re sure.” Morgan’s voice wasn’t going to recover from her strained tone for the rest of the evening. And Peter was the reason for that. When he looked up, he found Skip smiling down at the child. But Peter knew better. He wasn’t going to let Morgan out of his sight.


	9. now having bad dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skip is handed a key to the Stark's lakehouse and Peter's growing anxiety leads him to seek comfort in Harley. The teen had had bad dreams before, but they've started to become consistent, resulting in further complicated issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): sexual assault , rape/non-con
> 
> \- the first bit of the chapter has non-graphic details of the assault , rape/non-con. it gives little info that it has been a month since the incident and skip continues his tendencies towards peter.  
> stops at ‘skip finished…’
> 
> \- there are quite a few mentions of skip being with peter throughout the chapter , but no graphic details
> 
> ( my sister handed me her old mac book so i can now start writing properly again !! but warning now , chapter 10 may be quite late because i've written it , but i'm not happy with it at all. so apologies ahead of time )

It had been a month. For the most part, Skip hadn’t bothered Peter. Sometimes he would let his hands travel to places Peter would shut out from his mind. He would calmly take Peter’s smaller hand and proceed to use it which Peter had somehow managed to keep and lock into the back of his mind. And every time this happened, it took place in Peter’s room. The source of safety he thought he had left diminished the minute skip requested (or rather, demanded) they go to his room. 

The month now lies in mid-October; the weather is colder and with each passing day, Peter becomes more of a shell of himself like he had been before Spider-Man. 

The teen had always been naturally shy with an awkward stutter. That didn’t take away his carefree view on life and how he battled every mission with a golden victory. However, before Spider-Man, he stuck to himself. The irritable click of his pen in class, the leg bouncing, his speech impediment and destructive nature to go from one conversation to another. It was Peter, and Peter only. It was what made him  _ Peter. _ Yet, he could feel that deteriorating. Each piece Skip takes, he crushes, and Peter was afraid he would never get that back. 

Those habits never took its bed to lie in. Peter had found his confidence surface from a dark pit when knowing he could defend himself. Something about Skip overpowered his body in a way he found it was no longer his. His powers would surely allow himself to push Skip away. Or was it a case of being too emotionally weak?

Watching PSA videos from the age of eleven-years-old made him realise that telling someone was never as easy as they portrayed it to be. 

_ (always tell a trusted adult) _

Peter found himself muttering this daily. The pure insanity that clouded his mind every night he couldn’t sleep-filled to the brim of—

_ (always tell a trusted adult)  _

Peter wasn’t trying to be so pessimistic about it. But it seemed as if everything said on those videos were people speaking for the victims rather than letting the victims speak for themselves. Maybe Peter should do more research, or—

But he can’t. If he told the truth, his dad would be ruined. Skip would find a way—tell forces that Tony Stark was alive. He would hurt Morgan. He would hurt Harley; hurt people he cared about. And Peter couldn’t let that happen—

_ “You’re such a good boy…”  _

Peter’s hand felt for Elli, his fingers squeezing the soft, grey fur of the plush. Skip had decided he was comfortable enough to finally go the whole way. He lived in the lake house every other day, it seemed. And Peter’s heart raced knowing that Tony, Pepper and Morgan were downstairs, watching a movie, late into the evening. His heart raced knowing his dad was a call away. That Pepper was. What if he reached for his phone for a moment? —the emergency contact for  _ Dad, Pep, Harley, May, Happy, Ned…  _ they were all a phone call away. 

Peter didn’t think Skip would have the courage to be this bold, but he is. And all Peter had to do was cry out loud enough for his dad to hear from downstairs. He should feel safe enough to do so. 

“Shh, don’t move…” 

Peter didn’t think about it as it was done. He was withdrawn the whole time, fingers still curled around the elephant. His old dog and teddy bear had fallen off the bed when Skip had roughly forced him down onto his stomach, hissing at him to be quiet. All that was left was the little elephant, the urge to just press the damn thing to his tear-stained face. The feeling was intoxicating that he ended up sobbing quietly into its fur, biting down on its ear to stop himself from screaming. 

Skip finished, manoeuvring himself from Peter and sat at the corner of the boy’s bed. Peter daren't move, shivering, still quietly crying into the poor elephant. His legs moved on their own accord, curling in on themselves, eyes squeezed shut as if it would stop the flow of tears. 

“Hey,” came Skip’s gentle voice. “Stop crying. You gotta go back downstairs in a minute.”

_ (he could never be as gentle) _

_ (he could never be as kind) _

What  _ was  _ Peter meant to do? Tell a trusted adult? As if that would work out for him. The world didn’t work like that. But it hurt so much. This was the second time Skip has gone the whole way, and it still  _ hurt.  _ He wanted to go downstairs and climb onto Tony’s lap. To listen to his dad’s beating heart whilst Tony snuggled him closer, pressing feather-light kisses to his hair and making soothing noises. Life wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, but it’s all Peter can imagine right now when the closest comfort he had was the little elephant. 

His sniffles didn’t stop, and every time he tried to stop the wet sobs, his chest stuttered and more came through. This made Skip sigh in frustration. He stood up, making Peter curl closer in on himself, and started changing back into his clothes. He came over to Peter, hand grabbing at his hair and lifting—more so yanking his head non-too kindly to look at him. His eyes were so cold, so lifeless. How could anyone live like that?

“You know what will happen, Peter,” he murmured dangerously. “If you so much as peep a word, it's goodbye to Daddy and a quick flight to MIT.” 

The threat wasn’t empty. Skip let go of his hair and Peter turned his face away, the elephant pushed more into his face. The fur was becoming matted from the tears. 

“Be back down in five minutes, Petey, okay?”

_ Please don’t call me that.  _ Peter wanted to protest against him weakly so desperately. He kept quiet, worried of what Skip might do. 

He settled on a nod. Skip made a noise of satisfaction before he left the teen’s room. 

Peter cried a little more but didn’t allow himself to do so for too long. He wanted his dad. 

He sat up and started dressing in a daze. And When he finally left the room, fresh-faced and hair decent, he subconsciously grabbed hold of the last comfort he had left; the elephant. 

Walking down the stairs deemed more of an effort than Peter expected. He felt feverish, but when he checked his forehead, his temperature was normal. He had been crying too much. Too stressed and dehydrated. That was why he felt achy and hot all over. 

Once he had gotten down the stairs he attempted to get himself some water, Elli tucked under his arm. He decided against the ice and settled the cup between his lips, taking small, tentative sips before making his way to the living room. 

His heart jumped at seeing Skip laughing and joking with Pepper and Tony. As if nothing had happened. Morgan was falling asleep in the armchair as the T.V. played a movie, and on the left side of Tony was a space. Peter took that opportunity and drifted across the room until he was curled up against Tony, cup of water abandoned on the coffee table and Elli still tucked under his left arm. 

“Hey, baby,” Tony said soothingly. He wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders, the teen snuggling closer to his dad. His hand gently swept over Peter’s long fringe of curls. 

Pepper tutted softly. “You need to get a haircut, Peter. How about one this weekend?” Her voice was so soft, so May-like that he could only nod. He felt as if he said something his voice would crack and he would burst into tears. “Alright. I’ll take you. Morgan needs one as well.” 

At the mention of her name, Morgan perked up. “Can I get bangs?”

Tony chuckled at this. “Why do you want bangs, honey?” 

“Because Alicia has them and it makes her look really pretty.” 

“You’re beautiful either way, sweetheart.” Pepper gave her a fond smile. Morgan didn’t argue after that, obviously not that up for the idea of getting a fringe. That was the joys of being a little kid, though. The most of your worries were copying what your friends were doing. “We’ll go on Saturday. You okay for then, Peter?” Her gaze wandered to said boy. He nodded, making eye contact with her as to not be rude. Then he looked away as quickly as he had made eye-contact, almost burying his face into Tony’s side. 

Tony didn’t protest, probably putting it down to him being extra clingy this evening. 

For the next couple of hours, the sit-down went back and forth. Morgan had eventually fallen asleep and Pepper had carried her to bed. Peter could hear the tell-tale signs of Morgan whining at being woken up when Pepper had gotten her ready for bed. 

Peter himself was starting to fall asleep by the time Pepper came back downstairs. His muscles were stiff from having his legs curled up almost to his chest, Elli still intact under his arms and head lying on Tony’s chest. He could tell his father was beginning to get restless as he began fidgeting and readjusting Peter in his grip. He needed to stretch his legs and do some physical therapy for his arm before he went to bed. 

“I think it’s time for me to part.” Skip announced this when it started to become dark. He stood up, stretching his long limbs as a yawn fell from his mouth.

“Where do you live, dear?” asked Pepper. She leaned over to the coffee table and retrieved Peter’s abandoned cup of water and Tony empty cup of coffee he had earlier. 

Skip shrugged lightly at the question; nonchalant and charismatic. It made Peter feel sick. “A couple of hours away, you know? Centre of New York.” 

“Would you like to stay the night?” Pepper’s suggestion made Peter tense. Tony’s arm, which was now light on his shoulders, squeezed assuringly. 

“You okay, Bambi?” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of Peter’s head. 

“I couldn’t do such a thing,” Skip said in the background. 

Peter nodded, still silent, not having said a word the entirety of the evening. It was strange for him to be quiet for this long; he knew this and wished he dared to speak a little bit more. The dam of tears was no longer ready to burst, so he knew he could easily speak without wanting to cry after each sentence. But the thought of talking whilst Skip was still in the room made anxiety claw deeply at his chest. He didn’t want to risk the panic he had bubbling inside of him. Besides, it may be rare, but Peter becomes quiet when he’s either upset, tired or sick. Tony could easily decide that his silence is a cause of exhaustion. 

“Oh, please, don’t be silly, Skip.” Pepper’s hospitality had been loyal to close family and friends. That only meant that Skip was a part of their family now. “We have a spare room upstairs, I’m sure you know.”

“Please,” Skip insisted in a fake plea, “I do not want to intrude.”

Tony finally started sitting up which jerked Peter to react. Tony patted his left shoulder to calm him, leaving his child on the sofa as he stood up, emitting a large yawn. Then, he addressed Skip. “You heard the lady, Westcott, stay the night. Her offer should mean a lot. She’s never normally this nice.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” deadpanned Pepper. It made Peter smile for the first time that evening. If only a little, watching his dad and his step-mother interact. 

He always knew their relationship would work out in the end. Even, when he was younger, even during the Civil War with Steve Rogers—the two were made for each other. It made Peter think whether or not he will ever find someone. Liz was nice and sweet, but she wasn’t the one. MJ was sarcastic, dominating her pride and authority; Peter admired her for that and his crush was developing sweetly. Maybe if she liked him back he could have a shot.

Then Skip’s words echoed through his mind. About Peter belonging to him. How no other girl or boy would look at him the same again if they knew what he was willing to do with an older man. MJ would be disgusted with him. Ned would never want to speak to him again. And the sweet life he had with Tony, May, Harley, Morgan—if everyone else in his family knew the acts he was committing his body to do would surely end. 

MJ didn’t need or deserve someone like him. Nor does Tony need a son like this. He deserved better—directing all of his attention to Harley and Morgan would be a much better swing for him. 

“If you all insist, then I’ll stay the night.”

*****

Peter knew he wasn’t safe in his bed all by himself. It was almost two in the morning and he had yet to feel a single ounce of tiredness he had felt earlier to get to sleep. Knowing Skip’s room was opposite his door made him anxious to the point that sleep was the last thing on his mind. 

Logically, he knew Skip wouldn’t dare try anything at this time of night. It was too quiet—no static to fill the background. Also, he was asleep. His hearing told him so; the man’s heartbeat faded to a slow an hour ago, and he was a deep breather when asleep. Yet, he still did not feel safe. 

The teen was atop his duvet, by the edge of the bed so he wasn’t in the middle where Skip had laid him down hours ago. His dog and teddy were back on his bed, resting on the pillows, and Elli was now clutched to his chest. He had no tears left to cry, but that didn’t stop the hefty feeling in his chest every time he so much as moved. 

Shakily, Peter’s hand wandered to the bedside table, grabbing his phone, taking out the charger and turning over. The screen was bright, but not enough to blind Peter since he’s already used to the little nightlight in the corner of his room. It cast a soft golden glow against the wooden-based room. 

Before he knew it, Peter was texting his older brother, Harley, seeking some comfort. Tony could say what he wanted about Harley’s angelic self when he was a baby; a sleeper, unlike Peter. Yet the teenage years caught up to the older boy and more often than not, Harley was up far longer than Peter was. 

_ you awake? _

It didn’t take long for three little dots to appear on his screen, indicating that Harley was typing. 

**the forgotten child:** _ i got time  _

_ what’s up _

Now that he had texted Harley, he had no idea what to talk about. He missed him, that was for sure. It was only October—his brother wouldn’t be back until December when the Christmas holidays began. So, he just improvised.

_ i can’t sleep, so i’m blaming you. _

**the forgotten child:** _ dickhead _

Peter giggled quietly, feeling a little better already. 

**the forgotten child:** _well imma blame you for keeping me up_

_ hey, you’re the one who decided to reply to me soooo _

**the forgotten child:** _ ah you think youre so funny  _

_ srsly tho are you okay _

_ hows the fam _

_ if you weren’t my brother i would literally swing over to mit and slap you into another universe for saying ‘fam’.  _

_ but i’m okay. and so is everyone else. _

**the forgotten child:** _ since im ur brother you still would slap me into another universe _

_ and that is all good _

_ it doesn’t explain why youve ecided to randomly message me  _

_ decided* _

_ fuck im tired  _

_ i miss you. _

_ if you use that against me i won’t hesitate. _

**the forgotten child:** _ hesitate to what _

_ you wouldnt hurt a fly _

_ would you hurt a spider _

_ how dare you assume i would harm such an innocent creature. spider’s i would never harm. in fact, fred is sleeping right next to me now. _

Every spider Peter comes across he always mamés them, Fred. Because why not? Every spider is called Fred. 

There wasn’t a spider next to him. That was a bluff. He’s never been afraid of spiders, but it doesn’t mean he likes them. He never kills them. He’ll see one in his room, get his dad to get rid of it (and make sure Tony doesn’t crush it) and then relax. If his dad isn’t there, he’d leave the room, wait a few hours and then go back and be a bit uneasy for the next couple of days until he found it again and told Tony. Harley was never any help; the boy detests the little bastards. The mention of a spider always made him shiver and gag in disgust. 

**the forgotten child:** _i hate you_

_ fred can die and burn in hell _

_ :( _

_ don’t be mean. _

**the forgotten child:** _ you love me :P _

_ unfortunately so. _

Speaking with Harley had calmed Peter down considerably. So much so that when Harley announced that he needed to get some sleep because of early classes in the morning, Peter didn’t mind, happy from the stupid, short conversation they had. 

He fell asleep nearing three in the morning, more content than he had been for the past few weeks.

*****

Skip was around every night for the rest of the week. And after the first night, he came into Peter’s room without fail. It didn’t matter if Tony was just a few doors down the hall. Not if Pepper was asleep in the next room or Morgan being childishly unaware of what Skip would have the teen do. All of Peter’s relief came crashing down when he found out Skip was unofficially a part of the family. 

He was given a key. 

The second week, he would come round when Morgan needed babysitting. And he took full advantage of sneaking off with Peter when Morgan was playing downstairs. Even so when Tony was home, Pepper was home; when both of them were home.

It became a constant cycle It was exhausting, it hurt—and he couldn’t say a word. He didn’t think he could do it without breaking the whole family in half. 

Everything got worse. 

The third week of Skip receiving the key, something happened that raised signals of worry in Peter’s mind.

He woke up on Thursday, ready to begin the day for school. However, when he shifted, he froze. And he couldn’t help but let out a terrified intake of breath. 

The wet patch surrounding his crotch area was enough to send him into blind, quiet sobbing. 

The dream he had was of him and Skip. In response to Skip’s touches, he always became aroused. Because that was his body’s betrayal in response to pleasure. He didn’t realise his nightmares could twist into real life as well. And his brain was running with it. The leftover touches made him want to throw up, but his body disagreed. 

Suddenly, he was angry; outraged with himself and his body for this treachery. He threw the covers back, dropping Elli to the floor and immediately set himself to shower in his ensuite. 

The water was stone-cold and he kept it like this the entire time he spilt soap onto his hands and scratched at his body. The skin on his arms and thighs were rubbed red-raw, stinging as the cold water continued to wash over him. All the while he sobbed angrily, disgusted with himself for enjoying something that a few days ago had made him hate the man. And when he finally stopped and walked out of the shower, he quickly dressed into some clean jeans and a baggy t-shirt. His pyjamas were thrown away into his rubbish bin by his desk. He couldn’t stand the thought of wearing them again.

It wasn’t until he went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth did he look in the mirror at himself. And he couldn’t hold back the undeniable nausea feeling in his throat. His eyes were gone; the brown pools held nothing but resentment at himself and Skip. 

He leaned over his toilet and finally got rid of the contents he managed to contain the day before. 

The wave didn’t last long. He hadn’t eaten much the day before; his appetite was semi sighing. He choked on his saliva before he quickly flushed any evidence to suggest he was sick away. He wasn’t loud—at least he hoped he wasn’t. He was nothing like Harley who would wake up the whole bloody household when he could. 

Before he changed the covers on his bed, he brushed his teeth once again and made sure to do a quick clean up of his bathroom before going back to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, freezing for a bit to check for any noise outside his door. He heard nothing but the murmuring voices of his family downstairs. It briefly made him wonder what time it was and then dismissed the fact. Tony normally awoke him if he was about to oversleep. Or Pepper would wake him up, and neither adult had come into his room yet. 

For a moment, he let himself stare at the void of his bed. The left side of the sheets and duvet were ruffled from where he had stumbled out of bed. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the evidence and quickly started removing the covers from his duvet, pillows and lastly the sheets. He daren’t look at his mattress as he makes his way out of his room. It was too embarrassing—shameful was the right word. 

How was he supposed to avoid Pepper on his way down? He was carrying a load of washing which had no visual of clothing. They wouldn’t be cleaning their bed covers and sheets for another week yet. It was suspicious in itself. 

He didn’t have to think too much because when he nearly made it to the washroom, he was stopped by Pepper. It looked as if she had just put on a wash.

“Hey, sweetie.” She looked down at the sheets in Peter’s hands. She stepped forward to take them but Peter backed away. “Oh…” She saw his hesitation and the teen ducked his head, cheeks heating up. “Did you have an accident—?”

“No! Pepper, I didn’t, just please let me through.” Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers scrunching into the fabric of his bedding. He’s a little afraid he’ll end up ripping the sheets.

_ (perhaps it’s best if he rips the bedding in half. he didn’t think he would ever be able to sleep in such filth again) _

“Honey, it’s okay—”

“ _ Please, Pepper.  _ I can do it.”

She looked reluctant to let him go. He knew it to be a rarity whenever he so much as gave Tony, Pepper, May and Happy any attitude. Bless Happy; he was more prone to Peter’s bad moods, but it was so rare that Pepper immediately caught onto it. Peter could tell; the gears were turning in her head behind her eyes—gentle when looking at him, ready to take care of any mistakes he had made. Still, he refused.

Forcefully, he moved around her, shutting the door behind him once he was in the small room. A large exhale led him to relax a small moment. After a brief numbing of the mind, he shoved his bedding into the dirty basket, now empty from a new wash that had started. In the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered the first winter when he was bitten by the radioactive spider. Spiders hibernate. In the winter, it was common for him to become unbearably tired and cold. He needed warmth and sleep. Tony, back in the Tower, found him curled up in one of the clean laundry baskets, basking in the warm scent and comfy spot. He went missing for a day. It was safe to say that Tony had contacted almost five police stations, Happy, Pepper and May until he finally found him. Harley found it funny. Pepper scolded him and Tony lectured him for an hour after. 

He hadn’t realised the tears filling his eyes until he sniffed, finding his head foggy and heart aching. He missed being back at the Tower. He missed before. And he felt incredibly selfish for thinking such a thing. Everything seemed much simpler. Why couldn’t he go back? 

Once the teen calmed himself down, he walked from the washroom, happy to see that Pepper wasn’t there anymore. A logical part of his brain told him that she would be back in a minute with Tony in tow. Or Tony would come looking for him. However, when it was the first thing in the morning and you’ve had possibly one of the worst wake-ups of your life, he decided he had to get out of the house as quickly as possible. 

Peter managed to weave himself from prying eyes as he packs his bags, carries a couple of his books and quietly makes his way from the house. There was a final goodbye he shouted into the house before closing the door, hearing the satisfying click. The fresh air hit him and he breathed in, taking in the fresh air. Arms that wound around his books tightened, an anxious feeling sweeping his chest in similar waves of the wind rattling the trees.

_ (a school day is just like any other day)  _

As it was still so early in the morning, Happy wasn’t there to escort him and Morgan to the city. Peter knew Tony would let Happy know that he travelled to school early. 

Peter didn’t need to swing to school. Without his suit with him, the image of a teenage boy swinging throughout New York without some sort of Spider get-up would surely raise a few questions. And being Tony Stark’s son, you were bound to be recognised fairly quickly. 

The second getaway was the train station. It was a half an hour walk from the lake house, and Peter felt as if it was a good idea to clear his head from the absurdity of the morning. A chance that maybe his mental brian power would allow him to have.

Before the train arrived for him, a voice in the back of his head wished for him to tell someone. Even if it wasn’t someone he was close to—perhaps Happy. Of course, that would lead back to his dad, and Tony didn’t need any more trouble. Or the worry of being forced from retirement—

This enigma was never going to be solved. Each slotted piece always made an unfitting attachment. His mind was persistently running around in circles:  _ tell someone. Tell a trusted adult. They’ll be able to help you. _ Yes, but then Skip would end up hurting someone he loves; Tony, Morgan and Harley. He could hurt May, Pepper or Ned—he could hurt Happy—

These chains of events stopped his brain from the knowledgeable truth. If he were to tell someone, it could all end. Yet the cycle would continue, and so many people would end up wounded in the process. Each fault one of Peter’s own, and he didn’t think he could handle one other burden. 

The train squealing to a stop didn’t break him away from his thoughts. He got on, took a seat, as the compartment was filled with half a dozen people, and leaned his head against the window.

Nausea still churned in his stomach. He had nothing to eat. Feeling as if he wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyways. He would have to stick with it until Skip eventually went away. Or maybe—just maybe—when Peter dared to fight back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i read that some sexual assault survivors can have dreams about their abuser , which further leads to more doubt when telling someone and , in same-sex cases , confusions about their sexuality even when they were sure of their identity before. 
> 
> -stay safe out there.


	10. bye-bye, petey-pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has been tasked to take Morgan and her friends out for trick or treating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): brief description in the beginning paragraphs of peter’s mindset and skip.  
> attempted child kidnapping

Were monsters made, or were they born? These two questions were difficult to decipher. You could say a lot of people were born that way. There were plenty of examples of people with the most average upbringing, yet later on rape, murder and break what was vulnerable. Some were raised to be spiteful and full of impending rage. It was always difficult to tell unless they were caught in the clutches of handcuffs, inside of a jail cell. 

When Peter was little, he had a fear of the typical monster in the wardrobe. It first occurred after he had watched The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe. The White Witch would capture him and take him away like Edmund had been. 

Yet he realised monsters themselves spied on young children. They also had predator eyes for teenagers. With each move that kid made, their eyes would follow. And eventually, they would sneak (instead of jump like childish monsters did) and take what was in front of them. 

It now left Peter feeling shaken at night. His nightlight was never good enough, and the lamp on his bedside table brought the standard comfort he needed before his eyes managed to close for the night. 

Whenever Skip got Morgan ready for bed or suggested a bath for her, Peter had stepped in and taken over from the normal babysitter duties. Skip never protested and after Morgan was in bed, he took Peter downstairs. This happened when Tony and Pepper were back late. Sometimes the arrangements were rare, so Peter didn’t have to stress about it too much. 

The monster Peter dreams of was Skip. As Peter laid on his side, Elli pressed against his chest, he would squeeze his eyes shut when the door creaked open. 

He was petrified every single night. Even the nights Skip wasn’t there. Heart hammering. Chest compressed with each breath. Inhaler the second object clenched in his grip. Tears creating wet patches on his pillow and Elli. And his body—he couldn’t stop shaking. It made his head swim, and even if he managed to sleep, dreams that switched from bad to nightmare-inducing pulled him to wake, only to discover that he would have to change the covers on his bed once again. 

Perhaps he should have been more worried when October the 31st came crashing through the front door. Morgan had already picked out her outfit, ready more than ever to go trick or treating for the first time with her big brother. Harley couldn’t make it, understandably so. He had MIT to worry about despite protesting against the school boards of exams; he wanted to escort his little sister around the suburban areas of Queens for the first time. However, MIT's exam seasons were coming up. That left Peter to not only look after Morgan but to escort two of Morgan’s friends, Alicia and Libby, with him, happily agreeing with no money offered to babysit by their parents. The three girls were going to be having a sleepover at Alicia’s who lived in the suburban areas. He was happy to hear from Tony that Skip would for once not be joining them. As much as Morgan adored Skip, she was desperate to take her brother by the hands and force him to get as many sweets as possible. 

Finally, Tony trusted him enough to look after his baby sister by himself. 

When Peter walked through the doors to his home, he was greeted by Morgan; a huge, happy smile on her precious face. “Guess who picked me up from school!” she exclaimed excitedly. And Peter felt his posture deflate with happiness.

“Dad?” Peter called, shutting the door behind him and dropping his rucksack to the floor along with his shoes. Pepper would kill him if she saw him behave in such a way, but he knew she was not at home to scold him.

“In here, Bambi.”

Something about Tony being home for once had Peter drawn in to hide under his father’s arms and cling to him like a baby koala. 

He walked alongside his little sister and found Tony sitting on the sofa, StarkPad in hand and smiling cheekily up at his children. Morgan immediately took her seat on his lap. 

“Oh, I know why you two haven’t started dinner.” Peter groaned dramatically, slumping down on the sofa opposite them. Morgan giggled, clear on the implication. “You would have started dinner by now—after all, we’re having, what? Shepard’s pie? That takes a shit load of time.”

Tony scowled at his language. “Your little sister is here.”

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes. “She knows; may I remind you it was you who taught her all those words.”

Peter watched as Morgan gasped dramatically as his Dad shook his head at her like a child. “I did no such thing, did I Morguna?”

“Of course not. Petey is a liar.”

_(that’s right. kids lie)_

Peter sighed. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Morgan.”

“Nope.” She shook her head, cuddling more into Tony. Something about that made him look away. Even more so when Tony leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. 

It made him feel insecure. Knowing Morgan had their dad all to herself for five years without her brothers around and her parents not at work as much had Peter selfishly envy her. And with that came his doubts on whether or not he should throw his weight around them. Perhaps do a Harley and disappear to university straight away. He’s not old enough, but that wouldn’t stop him from packing his bags and living with May. It reminded him of a brief, startling conversation he and Harley had the night before his older brother left for MIT. 

“Maybe pack your bags, come with me,” Harley had joked. “Clearly Dad is in the zone. He doesn’t need us. He’s got, Morgan.”

Peter knew he was joking. Harley would never seriously say such a thing, especially in front of Peter. However, when he looked at their dad interacting with Morgan as if Peter was not there, he couldn't help but swallow dryly. An urge to cry came to him. 

“Hey, kid?”

Peter sniffed, stubbornly blinking away tears and nodded to Tony’s call. He didn’t think he could look him in the eyes without bursting into floods of tears.

“If little miss here is having a trick or treat session then she needs some dinner. What do you think about starting?”

_Can you maybe help me?_ Peter wanted to desperately ask. _Like old times? Morgan can stay here and we can cook together—_

“Oh, Daddy! I almost forgot—I need some help with my math homework.”

Peter deflated, but accepted defeat. He didn’t even want anyone in the kitchen with him. When Skip cornered him—the claustrophobia was digging into his chest like a pair of blunt spades. It was enough to make him wheeze and cry. Being on his own in the kitchen wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

The teen stood up, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to make it seem as if he was tired rather than about to cry. “I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thanks, squirt.”

“Bye-bye, Petey.” 

*****

Tony watched as his son made his way from the living room. He bounced Morgan on his lap a little before carefully placing his hands under her armpits to take her off. “Right, you get your homework, little miss, and I’ll help you out.” 

Morgan looked over to where Peter had disappeared to. She looked defeated, her shoulders dropping from her usual neat posture. 

“Something the matter, Morgan?”

“Why doesn’t Petey wanna hang out with us anymore?”

Tony tried to ignore the tremble in her voice and stood up with a frown on his face. “He’s making us dinner, sweetheart. Otherwise, I’m sure Peter would love to help out with your homework.”

“No, Daddy.” The whine in her voice had Tony furrowing his brows. She turned around, staring up at him with huge eyes of despair. “He doesn’t play with me. He never hangs out with me and Skip anymore; he’s always busy.”

Tony felt a cold dread run up his spine at those words. He bent down to her level, looking towards the kitchen. He saw that Peter had plugged earphones into his ears, no doubt the volume turned a significant amount. His son had the ears of a dog. His gaze wandered back to his daughter’s who was still pouting. “He’s busy, honey—”

“Peter cries a lot.”

_(she never calls him peter)_

Tony had to land himself comfortably on the floor at those words. Now he sat staring up at his youngest child, afraid of what he had heard. “Peter cries a lot?” he echoed. His frown did not leave his face and intensified when Morgan looked away guiltily. “Morgan?” 

“Peter made me promise.”

_(peter made her promise not to tell)_

Tony sighed for the umpteenth time that afternoon, taking hold of Morgan's hand, gently soothing over the back of her palm. “You won’t get in trouble for telling me. If Peter is upset then you must tell me.”

Morgan was a crier. He wasn’t surprised to see tears start forming in her eyes; she was like a mini version of Peter. Harley escaped that trait and borrowed the fine gene from Tony. 

“Hey, hey…” Tony soothed gently. “It’s okay to tell me, Morgan.”

“Will you make Peter happy?” she whispered, sniffling and wiping at her nose. “Happy like he used to be? Like in the holiday’s?”

Tony’s bottom lip got caught between his teeth as he thought of this. He spoke again, barely able to form a coherent sentence, “Baby—”

“Like before I was born?” Her head dropped as a tiny sob shook her tiny body. 

Tony scooped her into his arms, her head falling to his shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head, wrapping his arms tightly around her frame. “Why is he sad Morgan?” he said slowly, wanting to let her calm down first of all. Some disturbing, sick feeling was starting to form in the pit of Tony’s stomach. Some part of him worked the wires in his brain; when Peter started becoming so clingy towards him and only him. Now … now Peter wouldn’t even look Tony in the eyes. 

What had happened to his baby during the time of—Tony swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Everything began during the Civil War. Things gradually became worse when he found out that the mysterious spider was his son. Then the fight against the Vulture, the argument, the war between them and Thanos and all of the passing time, Peter had not once come to him for comfort. And now Peter won’t so much as look at him. Was all of this his fault? Had he not paid enough attention to realise that his son was hurting?

“I hear him cry…” Morgan’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I hear him cry. Every night. _Every night,_ Daddy…” She gasped in a gulp of air, her chest stuttering, coughing wetly into Tony’s shoulder. “A-and I … I tried to help him. I walked in and I - I—” she spluttered over her words. All Tony could do was tug her impossibly closer, biting back his tears. “He told me to go away. He was so sad, Daddy. He was so _sad…_ ”

Tony promised himself he would speak to Peter tonight. He could hope Peter didn’t take his findings out on Morgan. Peter wasn’t that sort of person, but something Tony should have realised ages ago was how isolated and irritable his youngest son had been as of late. And for whatever reason, his brain couldn’t seem to connect the dots of when Peter started acting completely contrarily. He would love to blame it on typical teenage angst, but Peter was no typical teenager. 

He just wished he connected more with Peter and Harley as he had done with Morgan. Oblivious dots could have been resolved by now if he knew his son(s) a little better. But it was too late for that now, wasn’t it?

*****

Happy dropped Morgan and Peter off at Alicia’s house. Her mother, Jacqui, greeted them with a soft smile, waving her hands to encourage them inside the house. Alicia’s family lived in the prim suburban areas of New York near Queens. Their house was tidy and clean, smelled of lavender and filled to the brim with family pictures. 

It crossed Peter’s mind that Jacqui had lost her husband to the Snap. Not much detail was told to him (because quite frankly, it was none of his business) but in those lost five years, she had met another man who helped raise little Alicia. When the Blip resolved the earth’s normal population, upon seeing his wife with a new man must have broken him. Alicia had barely been a newborn when half the universe disappeared; to add salt to the wound, Alicia called her step-father Daddy instead of her real father. He had apparently left the very next day and hadn’t been heard from or seen since. 

The thought that Alicia would never get to know who her real dad was made Peter feel a little disheartened. But if the man wasn’t willing to at least stick around for his child, then he must not have been worth it unless suggested otherwise. Peter wasn’t one to judge too hard, but Alicia is such a sweet little girl, much like Morgan. 

“How are you, Peter?” Jacqui asked once both girls ran up the stairs in a fit of childish glee. 

Jacqui's face was lined with stress but laughter lines by the eyes and a small gleam to her smile suggested to Peter she was doing as well as she always had been. She missed her ex-husband and what type of father he could have been to Alicia. But she could be happy with her husband as of now, and Alicia didn’t seem to be affected by it at all. Which is all a child and a small family like their own deserved. 

“I’m okay, Mrs Kay. How are you?”

“Please, Peter, call me Jacque. Mrs Kay makes me sound older than I am. And I’m doing alright. Thank you so much for taking the girls out tonight.” Her smile is kind. Peter couldn’t help but feel … safer in this house. More so than his own.

“The pleasures are all mine. I’m doing their makeup aren’t I?” Jacqui laughed at his scoop, nodding her head. He already had his rucksack slung over his back which contained Morgan’s costume for Halloween. His right hand was occupied with her duffle bag that contained her sleepover things. 

Jacqui reached over, taking Morgan’s duffle bag. “I’ll take these; Libby will be here any second. Then we’ll get started on the Halloween fiasco.” She was excited, and Peter could tell by the masses of Halloween decorations outside of their house and little spooky extras on the inside. 

It wasn’t long until Libby arrived, squealing and hugging both Alicia and Morgan, all very hyped for their sleepover. Peter had distracted himself in helping Jacqui clean up after the girls had some ice cream. Alicia has insisted they had to keep their energy up for all of the walking they would be doing. 

Afterwards, Peter attempted to apply their ~~face paint~~ makeup. He had never taken up art, yet he was horrible. It wasn’t as if he had no clue as to what the hell he was doing. Some cat whiskers here, some puppy and rabbit markings there. It must have been good enough because all the girls thanked him profusely and were all very pleased with how they looked. It reminded him of when he and Harley would go round to either his mother's home with his little sister to dress up and trick or treat around the neighbourhood or to Ben and May’s to snack and watch scary movies all night. Most were PG-13 because they were younger then. The last time they went trick or treating together was when Harley was fourteen and Peter was twelve. Peter remained with Harley’s sister for one more year until he eventually quit the childish games. 

As he gave the girls their goodie bags, he made sure to wrap them up in a coat, warm enough to exit the house and leave with final reassurance to Jacqui that they would be okay. He watched tentatively as his baby sister and her two friends ran off ahead of him, all childish innocence and delight. He wished for his youth back. Some might say he was still incredibly youthful. But wasn’t youth meant to be … beautiful in a sense? His beauty was running down the drain. 

Their night went swimmingly. Peter had to catch Libby at one point when her little shoe got caught in her witch dress she was wearing. The pros of having great reflexes from his spider-bite. He didn’t think he could deal with a crying child. 

When it started getting dark at around six o’clock, Peter announced to the girls that they should start heading back. Morgan pouted, using her best puppy-dog eyes. It didn’t work for him anymore when he pointed that gaze to his dad, Pepper and Aunt May.

“Just a little longer, Petey,” she pleaded. “Half an hour tops?”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating her words. The other girls also pouted at him. But they could never win him over. Only his little sister could. And that made him come to the final decision. 

After glancing at his watch one more time, his eyes briefly scraping over the panic button that made his chest tighten, he said, “Half an hour, then. But we must get back after.” 

The girls all cheered, once again walking ahead of him.

“Don’t wander off!” He caught up to them, holding his hand to his chest. He didn’t like the idea of being out so late. This was the time teenagers started appearing on the face of the Earth and causing mayhem around the normally peaceful neighbourhood. He scanned nervously as the amount of little kids out began to diminish and a lot more older kids began to scatter around the street. 

Half an hour. He’d be okay. It wasn’t as if anything could touch them. It may be dark, but they were surrounded by a load of people. Not to mention Spider-Man...

Peter pulled out his inhaler from his pocket, readying himself to slow his rapid breathing. But decided against it, watching as they left the busy part of the neighbourhood and came to a more secluded area. He kept the object tightly in his grasp—swallowing, sweating at the nape of his neck—he continued to let his stare wander. The lights to these houses were off, which meant none of them were in the mood for trick or treaters. However, one of the girls walked up to answer, and Peter couldn’t help the short breaths that followed afterwards. 

He was shaking, breathing borderline hyperventilating. His spider senses were on fire, and he couldn’t figure out why—

The teen watched as a hand came from the door, gesturing the girls inside, no sign of the offending person’s face. To Peter’s sheer horror, the girls started to single-file towards the front of the house—to follow the hand inside. 

“Fuck— _MORGAN!”_

All three girls froze in place, and the hand rapidly vanished, hiding behind the door which then slammed shut. Morgan had to quickly step back to avoid catching her feet in the door. Peter was already running across the lawn, heart pumping and adrenaline for his protection instinct kicking in.

“Petey—” Morgan began. Peter snatched her hand, gesturing for the other girls to follow as they made their way from the house. “Petey—” Morgan tried again when they were away from the house, but still in sight.

“What were you _thinking?!”_ Peter cried. He bent down to her level, hands on her shoulders; he was gentle but hysterical. His shaking hadn’t subsided, and his lungs threatened to rattle with the wet coughs that were beginning to build up in his throat. He couldn’t have an asthma attack now, or an anxiety attack—whatever his body deems more important than keeping his baby sister safe is not an option. His sister was near… she could have—

Morgan had tears in her eyes from her older brother’s angry and terrifying outburst. The teen then looked at the other girls standing shaken and wide-eyed from shock. The glare on Peter’s face was disturbing. “What were you _all_ thinking?”

“We’re sorry, Peter,” said Libby. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if Alicia was on the same boat. “We didn’t mean to.”

“You’re all smart girls! What made you think to go into a stranger’s house was _okay?!_ ”

Morgan whimpered, wiping at her eyes. “He said he had candy inside.”

Peter glowered at her. “Morgan, Dad’s told you about strangers!” He recognised the mistake of the mention of their dad in the present tense. But the girls beside him didn’t say a thing. And in his panic-induced mind, he did not give a flying feather of the cause. 

Peter wrapped his arms around Morgan, keeping his gaze down. The beating of his heart had yet to return to a normal pattern—a lump had formed in his throat and he felt like bursting into tears himself. The wet coughs remained in his throat, but it no longer felt as if his limp lungs were threatening an asthma attack. 

“I’m gonna call the cops.”

As he called them, they walked away from the house. Peter tried keeping his breathing under control when talking to the operator. He managed it for the time being, but his lungs were protesting, begging for air. 

He carried Morgan back to Alicia’s house. By the time that happened, the teen was informed that the police had arrived at the house and arrested the guy. No one had lived in that house for months and the guy was sitting there, waiting for kids—to lure them inside and potentially harm them. 

That was one more scumbag of the Earth behind bars. 

Jacqui was not happy, to say the least. The girls were upset by Peter’s understandable eruption and Jacqui ended up contacting Libby’s mother and Pepper. She told Peter she didn’t feel comfortable taking care of the girls after such an incident occurred whilst the girls were under his/her care. Peter was relieved by this, wanting to have Morgan in the comfort of their home with her parent's protection. That didn’t stop the underlying guilt breaking the wall in his chest. He wasn’t exactly going to be the girl’s favourite person for a while after this. He wasn’t worried about Alicia and Libby. More about Morgan, who stuck by the girls all evening, not giving Peter so much of a glance. And when Pepper finally came to pick them up at eight, Morgan demanded she sit in the front with Pepper when she would normally sit by Peter. 

Pepper said nothing, casting an apologetic glance in the rearview mirror. 

By the time they got home, Morgan ran upstairs, leaving her bag of sweets with Pepper and slamming her bedroom door behind her. Tony had been waiting for them, and immediately chased Morgan when her cries could be heard from her room. 

“I’m sorry, Pepper…”

Pepper looked conflicted on what to say. She didn’t seem angry at Peter, and the logical part of his mind told him she wouldn’t be frustrated at him for this kind of situation. Anyone who loved their child as much as Pepper did would appreciate his rapid actions. But he couldn’t help but feel demoralised because he hadn’t spotted the absurdity of the house and neighbourhood in the first place. He wrongfully took his anger and horrified stance out on the girls when he was responsible for them.

“Honey, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m just glad you’re all okay.”

Peter shook his head, avoiding Pepper’s comforting arm when she came towards him. He swiftly passed her and made his way upstairs, saying a brief goodnight before shutting his bedroom door, admittedly less dramatised than Morgan. 

He sank to the floor, laying his head against the door as tears finally began to make their way down his cheeks.

He could have lost Morgan tonight. He could have rushed in there and kicked the guys' ass, but then Morgan and the girls would have been traumatised when all they thought was to gain some sweets for their hard work of walking around all evening. If he had paid a little more attention to the girls in the first place and told them to stay in the louder parts of the neighbourhood, none of this would have happened. He shouldn’t have allowed the girls to stay out for another half an hour as it was. He should have done better and he didn’t. 

Skip was right.

_(you tell anyone, and it’s bye-bye to daddy’s reputation)_

_(i wouldn't expect someone as silly as you to disobey me, huh, peter?)_

_(look at that. you’re worth all this, baby. just for me. all for me)_

A croaky, wet sob tore his punctured throat. And once that began, he simply could not stop. All he seemed to be doing was crying lately. Soon, his body will have no more tears left to cry, and he would be left dry heaving over someone he could easily control himself. 

His chest continued to layer itself with heaving cries and not once did he use his inhaler. The only person who could give him the breath needed was busy comforting Morgan. 

He just wanted his dad. Was that too much to ask? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -stay safe out there !


	11. when we all fall asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's dreams worsen and he seeks solace in someone he hasn't seen since the war.

_ peter? pete? wake up for me buddy— _

_ Peter’s eyes flew open. But he didn’t wake to that voice. No, he wasn’t even in bed as he awoke. His feet were planted on a concrete ground with a blank space hugging his barren walls. This wasn’t anywhere he knew, so where was he? _

_ “Dad?”  _

_ It was an instinct to call for Tony first of all. He didn’t know he had until it echoed and bounced from the walls. In this blank space, who could hear him?  _

_ “Dad?” He walked forwards. His legs felt like jelly, and in the process, he nearly tripped over. “Daddy!”  _

_ peter, calm down _

_ Peter spun around, eyes widening when he saw a door. It was the same door to his old bedroom in Malibu. It occurred to him then and there that this wasn’t somewhere. It was a place inside of his head; that his dreams are creating.  _

_ He made the snap decision and followed through that door.  _

_ When he entered, the room was empty. Vacant of any of his toys, bed, desk. There was no such human presence.  _

_ “What?...”  _

_ He didn’t have much time to think before he awoke a second time.  _

__ His eyes opened. 

“Dad?”

Tony smiled down at him, combing a hand through his hair. “Hey, bud. You had a pretty bad dream.”

Peter shrunk away from Tony’s hand, feeling a little embarrassed at the prospect of his father catching him having a bad dream. It wasn’t even  _ bad.  _ It was just strange. But then he remembered Tony talking to him in the dream before. He must have had another dream and Tony caught him in the middle of it. 

“Where’s Morgan?”

He remembered yesterday, and the disaster it had caused. How that hand gesturing his little sister and her friends inside had freaked him out beyond the point of breathing. He was on the brink of a panic attack by the time he got home, and when he shut his door to his bedroom, he had collapsed to the floor and sat there for the rest of the evening. Even now his chest feels a little tight. 

He realised with a jolt that he hadn’t changed last night—he didn’t get under the covers. His body lay a little cold on top of his duvet, head of curls rested on his arm that now shot pins and needles through his wrist and hand. The right side of his face was sweaty and most likely had lines of patterns and dents decorating his flushed skin. It felt as if he had just woken up from a nap rather than a night’s sleep. 

As if Tony had a sixth sense, he presented Peter’s inhaler, shaking it a little. He could see Peter’s eyes wide with the difficulty of breathing in his wakefulness. “Morgan’s fine, Bambi. I’m keeping her home from school today.” He had a crease in his brow, anxiety clawing at his chest. “Do you wanna stay home from school?”

Without making any eye contact, Peter took his inhaler but didn’t use it. There was no reason to, despite what his nurse said. Despite the wheeze in his lungs. Despite the desperation on his father’s face. “No, I got an English test today.” All that essay writing for  _ Animal Farm _ should have paid off by now, and he wasn't about to skip school to miss his opportunity to get a good grade. “I’ll be fine, Dad. As long as Morgan’s okay.” 

Tony reached forward, trying one last time to make some kind of physical contact with Peter that may reassure the teen. “If there was something wrong, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?” 

Peter moved out of the way before Tony could tuck a long curl behind his ear. He grimaced, finding his hands the sole purpose of his vision. “Dad, look—”

“I should have noticed before,” Tony started miserably. Peter’s heart seemed to have taken a trip to South Africa, because all of a sudden, he couldn’t feel the familiar  _ thump  _ against his ribcage. “Morgan said you were crying yourself to sleep at night.” Tony’s voice was strained— _ wrecked _ and Peter swallowed, trying to gather air back into his lungs. “And it took me some time to work it out, but … you started acting strange the night after the decathlon in Washington. And Skip was with you.”

Peter snatched his hand away from Tony when he tried in vain to hold it. The teen didn’t want to deal with this. “Just leave it, Dad.” He swung his legs over the bed, standing up and moving out of the room. He could feel Tony follow behind him. 

“Why should I leave it when I feel as if something happened between you and Skip that Saturday night?”

Peter swallowed. What had Morgan  _ told _ him? Anything that he didn’t know himself? If he had, that little girl is playing a dangerous game. She needs to step down before it becomes any worse.  _ He  _ will go after her.  _ He  _ will  _ hurt  _ her. 

“When is your next meeting? It’s tomorrow isn’t it?” Peter asked abruptly, stopping halfway down the stairs. He wanted to pick Morgan up from school and spend some time with her. Maybe get her to forgive him. Then tell her to keep her mouth shut.

Tony sighed irritably but remained calm. “Peter now is hardly the time to change the subject.”

“Now is hardly the time to start asking ridiculous questions first thing in the morning,” Peter snapped. 

“Excuse me?”

Peter grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before making his way down the rest of the stairs. Tony followed suit, placing himself in front of Peter to stop him. 

“Talk to me, kid.”

The teen grimaced again, shrugging out of Tony’s hold. “No offence, Dad, you’re not good at talking to people.” He felt angry that Tony was trying to control his life. He always had, so Peter should be used to this. Then why was he becoming irritable  _ now?  _

Could Tony not see that he was protecting them? Harley would do the same with him (though he would never forgive himself if he found out Harley was doing such a thing). Tony had sacrificed himself so he could save his sons. Why couldn’t Peter do something useful for once? By protecting his father’s identity? By not letting Skip anywhere near Morgan and Harley? “Just leave me alone.”

Tony, however, and to Peter’s dismay, did not ‘leave it’ as he had asked. “Something happened that night, Peter. I know. Because ever since then, you haven’t been quite like my son.”

The mistake of that sentence should have been realised then and then. But when Peter swung himself around to give his father the most menacing glare, he found no guilt behind Tony’s words. Oh, he thought he was being helpful. Peter couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “Haven’t been quite like your son?”

Peter saw his Dad’s face unfold, finally realising the extent those words could have been placed in such an out of place context. “No, Peter, you know I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I’m sorry I’m not the perfect son you want me to be,” Peter ground out through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry I’m not the same as before. But people change, Dad.” 

Tony said nothing, at a loss for words.  _ Good, he should be,  _ Peter thought. 

Peter sniffed, already tired of the conversation. He just wanted to go to school and get this day over and done with. That numb feeling was beginning to creep up on him again—the thought of going to school had always made him want to stay in bed all day, but now, he was half tempted to make use of that idea.

“I wish you would talk to me, Pete.”

The teen swallowed the lump that had built up in his throat. He didn’t have the energy to snipe at Tony again. He settled with, “I’ve gotta get to school.”

Peter knew Tony; he’s not stupid.

_ (there's that repetitive word again.  _ **_stupid._ ** _ why so? because the stark and parker family are not stupid, which makes this all the more harder) _

__ It’s becoming harder and harder to keep hidden away. He’s been careful. Cleaning his bedsheets. Scrubbing at his raw, bruised skin. Kept himself close to the family despite not wanting to be touched by  _ anyone.  _ How  _ had _ he changed exactly? 

One look behind him confirmed it all. Tony knew something happened that night. And that scared Peter more than it should. Even though all he wanted to do was burst into tears and tell his dad everything, he knew he couldn’t. What Skip had been doing, and what he will continue to do in the future, was too much. The damage had been done. He was consistently exhausted. The numbness he had felt beforehand expanded, it was constant and it was so damn tiring. Why was it he could no longer force himself to smile, to control his temper, or to  _ care? _

__ “I’m here to talk, Peter,” Tony said sincerely, and it almost caused Peter to crack. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

“I know, Dad.”

*****

Happy took him to school. Peter was beginning to wish he had swung his way to school. It seemed as if every few seconds Happy kept glancing in the rearview mirror to check if he was alright. Granted, to not raise suspicion, Peter should have sat in the front with Happy.

Happy (in Peter’s most  _ humble _ opinion) was the only person he could stand to be around right now. Happy had never been the most tactful person; no hugs from him except at Christmas. No silly questions asked to see if Peter was alright. He just did his job. And that wasn’t Happy’s fault. On the rare occasion, he did ask; Peter would tell him that he was fine. Then Happy would report back to Tony. Happy did care and he could always tell when something distasteful had happened. That was why he hadn’t said anything to get Peter to talk.

Before the journey began to settle onto the main road, Peter leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. 

_ He’s no longer in the Malibu room. That was destroyed years ago. With all his, Harley’s and Dad’s things. He remembered he had a picture of him and his mother in that room. Back when he was only six-year-old. One of him smiling toothily at the camera, his mother crouching behind him and pointing at said camera, also smiling gleefully. His step-father Richard had taken that. A man he never failed to miss despite hardly knowing him. He scarcely remembered his mother, either. _

_ It was the last photo taken before she died. And now it was gone forever.  _

_ Peter and Harley had been so angry at Tony. The blind rage didn’t calm until there was a possible chance that their dad had died. Their home was gone because Tony had been too reckless to realise his mistakes.  _

_ “Peter? Peter, baby? I’m sorry.” _

_ To his horror, he found a younger version of himself. Much smaller, terrified, glasses perched on the tip of his nose and curls array on top of his head. _

_ They were back in Ben and May’s old house. Before May had to move to the apartment she had now. _

_ May was in front of Peter, her hands gripping at little Peter’s upper arms. This only made teen Peter confused because he does not remember this happening.  _

_ “We’re sorry, bud…” Uncle Ben was there as well. Both his aunt and uncle had sorrow written solely in their eyes. A look Peter had only ever experienced twice from them; when Mary and Richard died; when Ben’s mother died. _

_ “They…” May swallowed, sniffing a little. This never happened… “They found the bodies of … of your dad and brother.” _

_ kid? wake up _

_ “What?” little Peter trembled. _

_ Teen Peter frowned. “What?” They never found any bodies. Both Dad and Harley were alive.  _

_ come on, peter, we’re here _

_ “I’m sorry, Peter.” Then, both his aunt and uncle were hugging little Peter. _

_ Teen Peter reached forwards, fingers twitching. “No. No, that’s not what happened!” _

__ Shaking startled him awake. He looked to his side to find Happy had gotten out of the car, opened the door and shook him awake. “Happy?”

The man didn’t look annoyed in the slightest. “Hey, kid. I couldn’t wake up after calling your name about five times. Thought you needed some assistance. You alright? Get enough sleep last night?”

Peter nodded, making a small humming sound at the back of his throat. “Yeah. Just fed up with school already.”

There was a hint of a smile on Happy’s face as he stepped back to let Peter out. 

Entering the school and leaving Happy behind didn’t make him feel any better about the dreams. He hardly ever dreamt, so he shouldn’t be feeling anxious to go to sleep anytime soon. However, even the prospect of Ned jumping him in the middle of the hallway was enough to make him on edge. He’s so  _ tired.  _

“How was your Halloween last night?” Ned asked excitedly. “First time with your little sister? I still take Jemma out sometimes. Though she has her friends now to do that—she doesn’t want her big brother towing her around anymore…”

Peter listened absently. Morgan was still angry at him. Well, he hadn’t made the effort to stick around much this morning. He hadn’t seen his little sister this morning. Both Peter’s and Tony’s argument would have been the equivalent of a helicopter mama bear to their curious bear cub. 

They walked to Peter’s locker, then Ned’s. They went to his form room as normal and he listened as Ned jabbered ado in his ear. And the whole time, he had managed to stay silent. MJ stayed with them, not bothering with interrupting Ned’s fantastical ramble, and Peter could swear he’s being watched ruthlessly by her observance. Which he had always failed to tell her to quit it; he finds it unnerving. God only knows what she may know about him. 

The journey to both their lockers and form was irrelevant information not needed. Ned rambled. MJ bore burn marks into the back of his head Same old, same old...

“You okay, Peter?”

“Mmm.” 

Any kind of reply would never satisfy MJ’s prying eyes. She glared at him, which caused him to shrink into his chair more. Ned went quiet for a moment, mumbling something to MJ, before he launched into a new topic, now addressing MJ instead of Peter. And the teen knew Ned didn’t mean this with any ill-intent. Ned knew Peter more than MJ did and knew not to stick his nose in it if Peter was uncharacteristically quiet. Although, there was some part of Peter that wished for Ned to notice maybe a little bit more.

The thought instantly made Peter feel ashamed. He hadn’t exactly dropped any hints apart from the occasional, “Look out for Morgan.” Ned didn’t know anything. Whether that be a hint of not, it was no one’s fault. Yet he had never spoken highly of Skip in front of Ned.

The bell made its first debut for the day, dragging his body to science class.

“You wanna come round later?” Ned said quietly when they settle into their seats. He’s trying to make light conversation. Peter couldn’t tell how far this will go.

“I can’t,” Peter replied shortly, taking out his notebook and pens. “I’m busy.”

Ned huffed, turning away irritably. “Okay, dude, I was just asking.”

With each spread of numbness in his chest, the heavier his breathing felt. He hadn’t meant to be short with Ned, but his rambling was not helping the small ache behind his eyes or the shake in his hands. He could apologise. But he didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to.

_ (coward) _

“Right, assignments are due in tomorrow.”

That shock horror brought peter down like a brick. Their assignment? What fucking assignment? When was it  _ assigned?  _

He swallowed anxiously, desperately trying to gulp down any kind of breath he could take without needing to take a puff of his inhaler. 

“This may not be worth a part of your course, but the next one you follow up on will be. Remember, this is just a rough draft. If they are handed to me and poorly written, then I will have to admit defeat and tell you that it will most likely affect your grade unless you get your act together.” The teacher’s eyes met Peter’s in a sympathetic gaze. Peter cast his eyes and head down, not wanting to deal with anyone’s pitying eyes. He didn’t deserve them; he’s lying to everyone about his dad’s death. What kind of scum would do that? Furthermore, for what he has been doing the last few months—if they  _ knew… _

_ (tell a trusted adult) _

If only someone  _ did  _ know. Maybe he would feel better. Maybe he would be happier. But then his dad wouldn’t, and neither would his family.

_ (tell a trusted adult) _

Peter’s eyes start dropping. 

He shouldn’t be falling asleep in class. How much time had passed? There were a flurry of notes on the board already and people were mimicking the scribbling. 

“Parker, pay attention.”

His eyes snapped open, fingers gripping the offending pen in his hand as his usually readable handwriting became a mess of splats on his piece of paper. Was he crying? No, his eyelids were becoming heavy again.

_ Apart from the occasional breeze in the air that touched the core of his bones w, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. _

_ It was late in the evening, which was normal. The air was crisp and cold. Normal. No one was beside him. Normal.  _

_ Most of the time he would be with May, visiting Uncle Ben’s statue for his death. Holding her hand, letting their tears dry and laughter drift among the quiet paths of the cemetery.  _

_ It wasn’t often people came here. The most Peter had ever seen of anyone here was a few at a time. That was what New Yorkers called a busy day.  _

_ What wasn’t normal was that Uncle Ben’s grave was the only one standing still. No others circled his. It was just Peter and the gravestone, hugged and punctured by a blank abyss.  _

_ “Uncle Ben?” _

_ His voice seemed to bounce off of the non-existing walls. It pierced his young ears and he stumbled forward, kneeling in front of his uncle. His shaking hand comes up to touch the top of the scattered stone. It was rough and bumpy beneath his fingers. Cold and frozen to the touch. Peter had decided very quickly he didn’t like it. That touch meant death. It was such an ugly word.  _

_ “I messed up.” _

_ Tears sprang to his eyes. A younger version by only two years was speaking of the unthinkable.  _

_ “I messed up so badly. And it’s all my fault.”  _

_ He was hyper-aware of the reality he was in; this was a dream. And perhaps he should visit Uncle Ben more often. He can’t seem to bring himself to do so without wanting to tear his eyes out from the blood he saw when Ben was shot.  _

(that was your fault, too)

_ As he knew this was a dream, the existing world in that time didn’t allow Ben to crawl from the grave and speak to Peter. The teen was left alone with his intoxicating thoughts.  _

_ “I messed up so bad… I tried. I tried so hard…” _

_ can someone wake parker up _

_ Peter jumped at the echoing voice. “Ben? I can’t wake up.” _

_ peter — ned, shake him awake _

_ “Why do I keep on falling asleep like this? I’m just so tired all the time.” _

__ “Peter?” 

The teen opened his eyes slowly, feeling as if he had just woken up from the world's longest nap. His muscles were stiff as if he had stayed up all night patrolling. His eyelids remained heavy and his head hefty with a building headache. 

“Peter, do I need to send you to the principle?”

He was thankful no one laughed. Rather, a few kids around him were staring. Most of the others were working with a small buzz in the room from constant chatter. When he looked up at his teacher, he found nothing but concern in their eyes. Concern for a good student that is. 

“No, no, sir, I’m okay.” Peter picked his pen back up. He was still feeling sleepy, even though the ‘world’s longest nap’ turned out to be a five-minute nap. 

“Don’t go falling asleep in my lesson again, then,” the teacher said more sternly. 

If it were any other kid who happened to fall asleep in class, then they would be sent to head of year for their behaviour. However, Peter happened to be a kid to respect. Maybe that was for his last name or his genuine good behaviour—he didn’t know. And he should take advantage of it, but he doesn’t. 

“Dude, do you need to go home?” Ned bugged for the final time of reaching through to his friend. It, of course, ended with Peter shaking his head, giving Ned a small smile of reassurance. “Only if you’re sure.”

*****

Peter didn’t know where to go after school. He said he was busy so Ned would avoid him. He neither wanted to go home to face Tony, Pepper and Morgan. He wasn’t about to go to May’s apartment because then she would surely worry and, out of that motherly concern, she would contact either Pepper or Tony. Going around May’s was also most likely end up bumping into Happy as well.

So his mind could only think of one more person he trusted to conceal his loneliness.

He started walking, not making the effort to plug his earphones in his phone and stick them into his ears. The buzz of the cityscape he walked on was enough to drown out his thoughts. 

When he eventually made it home, he’d apologise to Morgan. However, the Stark-temper was still rising with no signs of decreasing. He may not go home tonight.

At the thought of this, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Tony.

_ i’m not coming home tonight. don’t bother with dinner.  _

He placed his phone back in his pocket, not waiting for a reply and turning his vibration off. He knew his dad wouldn’t be happy with such an abrupt statement, but he couldn’t face any other person today. Not unless it was to the person he was visiting. 

He hadn’t seen her since the war. And he missed her. 

She lived nowhere near the city of the suburbs, of the apartment complexes. Similar to Tony, she lived further out of the State, a secluded area that her family knew about. He wondered briefly whether he should send her a text to say he was coming over. They haven’t spoken since the war. He hadn’t even thought about it, which made the growing guilt in his chest begin to bubble over. But facing her meant retelling truth. How he had nearly lost her. It almost hurt too much to see her.

_ (you’ve done so much wrong. what is the matter with you?) _

__ It was almost pitch black by the time he made it to the isolated field. No bright lights were shining to reveal the frozen tears sticking to his flushed cheeks. The sniffles and small whimpers of pain colliding with his chest were small and desperate. He felt like a little kid all over again. Those times when he felt as if he couldn’t go to his dad because he didn’t want to make him angrier from the stressful day he had already had. He needn’t a little child to be crying to him.

The door was right in front of him and all he could manage was a weak knock before the door was opening a moment later to reveal the person he’s missed for so many months.

“Peter?”

He sniffed, wiping at his runny nose that began from the bitter winds. She was standing there, eyes bright and peaceful. But there was the familiar heaps of protection and love for her baby-spider. So much so that he couldn’t help the small, choked whimper that escaped him that followed with a tired smile. 

“I missed you, Natasha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i have nothing to say other than it was painful to write and edit this. i tried fixing it as much as possible but for some reason , my brain couldn't process anything in this one. I'm incredibly sorry for that. let's pretend this chapter doesn't exist.


	12. there is nowhere to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha tries her best to figure out what exactly went wrong between the six months she had seen Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: implied/referenced suicidal thoughts

Natasha wasn’t expecting Peter to turn up to her door with his cheeks wet, face flushed and the ghost light of a smile she had ever seen wrapped on his face. 

Her concern continued to grow when a small sob escaped the young teenager, his shoulders slumping and frame shaking. It kicked off Natasha's protect and attack. “Come here, ребенок паук.” 

She came forward and wrapped her arms around him. Though taller than her, he tucked his face into her shoulder, the soft whimpers turning into heart-wrenching cries. He wasn’t loud, so the sobs clawing at his throat were stuttery and in between sharp intakes of breath—the cries were heaved with wet coughs. 

“C’mon, sh-shh…” She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, feeling his whole body shake. “Come in, ребенок паук. Don’t stand out in the cold. Shh, you’re okay … you’re safe with me.”

Peter refused to break away from her even as she ushered him inside the safety of her home. He was cold to the touch, curls array and a desperate look of utter misery settled on his face. Defeat. She couldn’t explain what else there was to the expression. 

Natasha guided the boy to the living room and settled him onto the sofa. When she made to move away to get him a hot drink, his hand suddenly shot out, grabbing onto her. She looked down, her heart plummeting at the look Peter gave her at the prospect of leaving. 

Fear.

He’s terrified. Why is that? 

“Peter?” she whispered, making a move to sit back down again. 

“D-don’t leave,” he croaked, another tear dripping down his cheek and onto the sofa. “I just …” He looks away, the floor an interest to him. What came next sounded so childish and innocent. “Can you - can you hold me? Like you used to?”

Natasha was introduced to Peter when he was nine-years-old. All shy and bright smiles with gaps between his teeth, short curls that still had its soft baby-touch and the biggest brown eyes she had ever seen. He was an adorable kid. She became close to him when she worked undercover for his father, telling him stories, tucking him into bed, holding him and singing to him in Russian. It continued when she no longer worked for Tony. She never saw the oldest Stark, but she kept in contact with Pepper just so she could spend some time with Peter and Harley. It became a frequent visit after Tony became an Avenger. Then the Snap happened. Then the War happened. And she hadn’t seen him in months.

The request to hold him had Natasha sitting back down and allowing Tony Stark’s son to curl up by her side, hand coming up to run through his soft unruly hair. 

They were quiet for a while, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace Natasha had going. The skin beneath her fingers by the nape of his neck was warm with sweat and flushed with fever-induced nightmares. Between now and the war, what had happened? 

“Something bad happened, Natasha,” Peter broke the silence in a low whisper. “Something bad. And it’s my fault.”

Natasha swallowed, thinking something along the lines of, “I’m sure it was nothing you did purposely.” But she found that to be too humble because someone like Peter would never accept that statement. Instead, she settled for, “Does your dad know?”

There was a slight shake of his head. He curled more into her, tucking his calf’s under his legs, his heated face cuddling by Natasha’s collarbone. “No. It’s not a ‘dad’ problem.” 

Natasha smiled to herself. “Do you need to speak with me about it?” Natasha didn’t think she had ever been so gentle with a child apart from Peter. Even when she visited Pepper and Tony from time-to-time during those gradual five years, she was never as soft with Morgan as she had been with Peter. There was something about him that she wanted to protect. Something in him that reminded her of herself when she was a little girl. “You don’t have to. But maybe it’ll be a little easier.”

There was a small sniffle. Then a sigh. He had stopped his crying, the only evidence left that he had been crying in the first place was the redness of his eyes and the circles that made it picture perfect. The redness of his nose, sniffling, choked back whimpers as his chest stuttered to stop the painful flow. There was a sense of beauty about it that Natasha couldn’t comprehend.

“Have you ever had a friend in trouble?” Peter questioned quietly.

Natasha’s hand continued to run through his hair. “When you have a job like ours…” She’s retired, but being an Avenger took a lot away from her, yet brought a lot for her. “You happen to find yourself or another in trouble a lot. But…” Natasha trailed off briefly, watching in the corner of her eye the way Peter’s hands clasped like a puzzle, squeezing, trying to stop the shaking that was beginning to calm down. “I have a feeling this isn’t about the Avengers, is it?”

“It isn’t. Hypothetically speaking…”

“Hypothetically speaking…” 

“This friend is … is in a difficult situation. Because she believes she’s protecting her family from doing so.” Natasha groaned at his wording but didn’t interrupt, needing Peter to carry on if he were to say this right. “So … um – you know? She doesn’t want to tell anyone. And that feeling has … numbed her. She doesn’t seem to care what’s happening to her anymore because all that’s in the back of her mind is protecting the people she loves.” He stops for a moment. 

Natasha shifts them so Peter was looking at her rather than away. His eyes wouldn’t look directly into hers. After all these years, Peter had never had a problem with keeping eye contact with anyone. Once in a while, his eyes would scatter, wander, in the same beat his stutter failed his speech. He tried, however, to maintain that importance. He neither had no issue when it came to facing his greatest enemies.

“Can you help her?”

A fresh wave of tears welled up in Peter’s eyes. He stubbornly blinked them away, sniffling lightly. “I wish I could; I really wish I could but I don’t know how.” He broke off, another sob bubbling painfully from his throat.

“Peter, Peter, my паук” —Natasha lifts his chin again— “listen here. Listen to me, детка…” His eyes still fail to meet hers. Natasha never claimed she was good with children. But she always wanted some of her own. If she and Bruce could have had children … she could have been a good mother. She could have. “Peter?”

Peter shook his head, eyes shut and shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do…”

A hollow feeling was left in the middle of Natasha’s chest. She knew something wasn’t right. Peter seemed like a completely different person from when she last saw him. He had that look of utter astonishment and relief when he found out his dad would be okay. Each smile he passed between the team was met with similar beams of relief. They had won, through and through; the defeat of Thanos and the survival of the team was what Peter deemed a ‘double win’. He had been ecstatic to meet Morgan. Asking what he had missed in the five years he had been gone. Which Star Wars movies did he miss? Who had survived the Snap? How had they figured time-travel out? 

Peter was still a kid. He had no filter or no innocent regard to what those five years had been like for everyone else. This rambling had lasted the entirety of the day. Tony listened with such fondness that Natasha feared he would never take his eyes off of his son again. It worsened when Harley had burst in, demanding what the hell had happened. 

Change didn’t happen overnight. Change was so gradual, so timeless that Natasha had a hard time believing that this emotional outbreak didn’t come from Peter’s dented memories of Mary and Richard Parker; the trauma of Ben’s image bleeding out on the ground. Of The Vulture. Of the infinite war. 

Peter had built walls to protect his mind. And those walls are becoming higher, with no reach to drag him back out. 

“Why is it your fault, Peter?” asked Natasha, her hands still caressing the teen’s cheeks. “I want you to look at me and tell me why you think this is your fault.” It wasn’t said unkindly. It was the bad seed on top of a good deed. 

“Because I’m stronger than this…” 

_Because I’m stronger than this._

The gears worked timelessly in Natasha’s head. Why on earth would Peter have to use his physical strength against the thing that was troubling his friend for? 

_because i’m stronger than this._

Peter moved away from her, struggling half-heartedly to keep upright and become his own shadow. Natasha let him go but followed his movements. 

_(because i’m stronger than_ him _)_

“I should get going,” said Peter, already standing up from the sofa. Natasha didn’t say a thing. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” Her gaze wandered to the outside, her windows showing nothing but a painted black sky. 

“Stay here for the night, Peter,” she offered softly. “Your dad will have a few chosen words for me if I let you go outside in the dark.”

A small quirk of his lips left Natasha with false hope. It was gone not even a split second later. “Could I really? I’m sure if I spoke to Dad then he won’t mind—”

Natasha shook her head at the hesitation in his voice. “Either Tony has hit his head or you’re talking about a completely different person.” Natasha traced her steps after Peter, who had dazedly began walking around the living room. “Peter?”

Peter swivelled back around, his tired gaze locked behind Natasha. “Um, Dad and I argued.”

Natasha came forward but kept her distance. Whenever she did step forward, Peter took a couple of steps back, almost flinching as she did so. “Peter, you know Tony loves you.”

“I know.”

There was a tense silence after that. For once, Natasha was at a loss for words of what to say. What was she meant to say in this enigma? Both Tony and Peter have been two of the most difficult people to read the entire time she was as a spy. Even vibrant, lovable, little Peter was hard to read. Behind that façade of bright, toothless smiles was a shy and humble young boy. Which was surprising when being raised in the presence of Tony Stark. Harley had more of Tony’s cocky behaviour and rebellious tendencies. Peter stole more Tony’s resemblance of looks. But what Natasha did know is that all of Tony’s children had one thing in common, and that was their casual Stark intelligence and tolerance. 

What Natasha couldn’t work out was why Peter had drastically changed since the last time she saw him. They had last seen each other at the reunion. Where they had said their last goodbyes to Vision, Loki and Gamora. He had that passive expression on his face, sympathetic, kind to the ones they had lost. Peter was no stranger to the loss of people close, and at the tender age of sixteen, he had seen a lot, lost a lot, and yet all it did was make him kind. At the reunion, Natasha could read the trauma in his eyes from the war, but Tony had placed an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. And the darkness of the trauma turned to those of a survivor when he knew he was safe by his father’s side. 

Right now, Tony wasn’t by his side. And something told Natasha they haven’t been by each other’s side for a long time. 

The red-head clapped her hands lightly, snapping Peter out of his tired daze. “Come on, ребенок паук. Let’s get you to bed.” 

Peter still seemed a little reluctant to accept Natasha’s offer. When she started walking upstairs, she heard the tell-tale signs of the teen following closely behind her. She couldn’t help but feel accomplished by the resistance; however, there was a dawning worry that ate gradually at her chest. Peter would normally be found to be putting up more of a fight. He could walk home by himself; he’s not a baby. 

There was something seriously up with Peter. Where was his blushing smile? His shy and kind eyes gone? He was a completely different person from the kid he was half a dozen months ago. 

“Can I use the bathroom?” asked Peter. 

“Of course,” said Natasha, “I’ll get some clothes for you to sleep.” She didn’t have anything for the teen to wear. What she did have was some old, baggy hoodies. Some she had stolen from the Avengers in the past. 

“Thank you…”

Natasha gave him a small smile. He flinched at the touch of her hand tucking a curl behind his ear. He never used to do that. He had always craved the touch of his family. Why is it he couldn’t stand the thought of an approaching hand? “You don’t need to thank me, Peter.” This teen was one of the only people she could truly break in front of. And seeing her boy a shell of his former self was enough to restrict the breath in her lungs. 

Nothing was said as he rolled his shoulders back and stepped through to the bathroom. Natasha stood there dumbly for a moment before she heard the shower turn on. The former assassin exhaled deeply through her nose before turning to her bedroom. 

Sometimes living by herself was lonely. The complete isolation gave her the chance to reform and be herself. And she saw Bruce almost every single day. He and Tony had formed their very own lab in her basement. It wasn’t as if she never saw Clint either. She visits him. He visits her. Sometimes with the family, sometimes by themselves. And the feeling of close contact with the people she loves is enough to keep her on a satisfied stand-still. When she felt ready, she would move closer to her family. 

Seeing Peter here, at his most vulnerable, crying, and looking the most euphoric to see her, not only made her incredibly content to spend some time with her boy but also devastatingly disconcerted to know that there has been a drastic change between now and over six months ago. 

Natasha set her mind to work on how to approach the subject as she looked through her outstanding collection of clothes. It was no surprise that one of the first ones she came across was Steve’s old hoodie. A pang in her heart almost stopped her from carrying on. Avoiding anything that has to do with Steve was the best she could do. 

Next, she found a single hoodie stolen years ago from Tony, a couple from Sam, a sweater from Bruce and many different items from Clint. Living with one another had them continuously mixing up their clothes. Not many of Natasha’s things were stolen simply because she was the smallest of the group. But that didn’t stop her and Wanda from mix and matching. But the boys she was surrounded by one way or another ended up in someone else’s accessories. She couldn’t count the number of times Bruce came down for breakfast swamped in one of the boys clothing. 

Her most fond memory was Peter (and Harley too, though less often) coming down in some of their comfy clothing items. None of them minded. Peter was spoiled rotten and treated like a baby. It was safe to say he detested it and more often than not tried directing the attention away from himself to focus on Harley. And the eldest Stark child resented it even more than Peter did. 

The thought put a tiny smile on her face as she pulled out one of Clint’s old hoodies. It drowned over her fingertips and surely would over Peter’s. 

Briefly, she wondered whether or not Peter had been in contact with Clint—perhaps even Bruce? He was arguably as close to them as he was with Natasha. Thor, the boy had admired for so long, but the God hardly ever came to Earth unless a dire emergency or to see his second family. Peter also enjoyed Steve’s company, and much like his admiration for Thor, he saw Steve as more of an idol. Until Steve and Tony turned on each other. 

The sound of the shower turning off had her snapping out of her thoughts.

Natasha closed her wardrobe, leaving the fleeting memories behind. She made her way to the spare bedroom. This one was usually shared between Nathanial and Cooper when they stayed over. There were plenty of spare clothes for Peter to put on so he’s not only wearing his underwear and a hoodie. 

Since Peter had yet to make himself home here, it would be the first time he slept here. Perhaps Natasha should have made an effort to contact Peter. Even Harley. The two were welcome here whenever they please. 

She understood that one of the reasons why Peter had decided to come to her instead of his dad for once. The two were not talking, that much was clear; they probably had a petty argument that could be solved between a few exchanged apologies and a hug. But both of them were too stubborn to apologise first, so God only knows how long they would spend in this spiral. 

However, Tony would never let his son go to Natasha in such a state. She may understand one of the reasons for his presence, but not the other. 

Peter entered the room, curls falling in clumps over his forehead. A long, fluffy towel wrapped from his shoulders and over his chest, covering his timid frame.

“Want me to bring up anything for you?” 

Peter shrinks into the towel a bit more, a small chatter from his teeth at the cold. “Um, can I have some hot cocoa?”

Natasha nodded and left him to his own devices. 

Her mind was still racing in unpredicting pieces as she boiled the kettle for both her and Peter. If the teenager wanted to be left alone, she would leave him be. 

There had been plenty of times when she had felt under pressure from constant belittlement, protectiveness and danger. Wouldn’t the sentiment of being a hypocrite come to play if she were to pressure the kid to talk? She needn’t have Peter reaching his tipping point. It didn’t mean she would not be having some serious words with Tony.

The vibration from her phone in her pocket caused her to spin away from the readying kettle and taking her device from its residence. Speak of the devil, **Tony** flashed on her screen.

For a brief moment, Natasha fought with her inner self whether to answer or not. But that would then send Tony into a frenzy of worry; in other words, he had no idea where his son was and he’s phoning every contact in his phone (that knows he’s alive) to see if they would spill any information of his whereabouts. 

Natasha answered.

“Good evening, Stark.”

_“Romanoff, where’s Peter?”_

Natasha rolled her eyes, turning back to the kettle once it was ready and took out two cups from her cupboards. “He’s safe, Tony. Stop concerning yourself.”

There was a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. _“Thank God…”_ he muttered to himself before gaining composure. _“He told me he wasn’t coming home. But he never said where he was going.”_

“Mmm,” Natasha hummed, “sound like someone else you know?”

_“Oh, fuck off.”_

Natasha smiled, but then the sour taste returned to her mouth. If she wasn’t going to get any more out of Peter tonight, then maybe she could break Tony instead. 

“Tony, Peter’s not himself.”

 _“You don’t think I’ve noticed this?”_ came the snide reply. 

Natasha frowned. She could hear the bitterness dripping from his tone. But it wasn’t directed towards her nor Peter. It was aimed at himself. “Tony, what happened?”

_“We just had a little bit of a disagreement—”_

“Is that why Peter was in tears when he came to my door?” she snapped. She couldn’t help it; she never wanted to see Peter like that again. She never saw him when his uncle died, and Tony said that it was one of the worst times to be a parent. Because seeing his child in such a distressed and self-hatred state dampened Tony’s mood to the point where he felt completely helpless. “Listen, Tony, whatever happened, it is none of my business. But I never want to see Peter like that ever again.” She couldn’t. She won’t let that happen.

_“Romanoff… I think I made a terrible mistake. And it’s my fault.”_

_(something bad happened, natasha. something bad. and it’s my fault)_

She was afraid to ask. But she did anyway. “Tony, what did you do?”

“Nat?”

Natasha spun around. She knew Tony heard by the way he held his breath. 

Peter stood in the doorway, Clint’s hoodie fanning over his small body, curls going every which way and eyes still holding that deep, red colour. 

“Peter.”

_“Peter,”_ Tony repeated over the phone. Natasha looked between the boy and the phone. _“Can I speak to him? He won’t answer any of my calls.”_

Natasha took the phone away from her ear. She needn’t say anything. He held out his hand, gesturing for the phone to be transferred to his hand. Natasha wasn’t one to deny anyone access to what they wanted when an altercation occurred. 

She handed the phone over, watching as Peter pressed the phone to his ear and moved into the other room. 

Natasha didn’t follow. She didn’t listen. It was between father and son. 

Peter came back sometime later and gave Natasha her phone back. She found that Tony no longer lit up the screen. They had hung up. 

“Do you need a little more time?” 

Peter shook his head. “There’s no time to give.”

Every time Natasha heard the kid, his tone dropped an octave like a poorly constructed autotuned song. He’s becoming weaker and weaker. And Natasha was beginning to pick up the pieces as to why he was. 

“Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks.” There’s a hint of a smile. It never reached his eyes. 

Natasha couldn’t hear most of what was said. But she caught the last couple of sentences by Peter.

“No, Dad, don’t worry about it.”

“If you’re that worried then why not stay home for once?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

There was irritation, he was snapping, there was no _I Love You._

Natasha didn’t need an early night tonight as it was.

 *****

Peter didn’t know what he was thinking at the moment. Yesterday had been a mess; ever since he had witnessed the potential kidnapping of his baby sister, nothing had been making sense. One moment he was numb, the next he was bordering on crying for the rest of the evening, and now he’s teetering on anger. 

The conversation from only minutes ago was ageing brutally. 

_“Peter, baby, I’m trying to understand what you need.”_

Peter fell back into the bed. It was soft, plush. The warmth of the room, however, was not enough to rid the shiver and the shaking from his hands. 

_“I’m worried, kiddo.”_

Peter swallowed, finding himself holding back tears yet again. 

_“You know I didn’t mean what I said this morning, right? I’ll be back home soon. Skip will be gone—”_

_“This has nothing to do with Morgan’s babysitter, Dad. I’m just stressed; with school, Queens, Harley’s gone—”_

_“Kid, you know Harley will be back for the holiday’s.”_

Did his dad think him as stupid? Of course, he knew that. But does Tony know how Peter _truly_ feels? He wanted to be back with Harley because he would understand _;_ he understands what it’s like to be gone for five years yet have it feel like only a second had passed. His brother knows what it’s like to have missed that many years and come back to realise that their dad … that their dad had _replaced_ them and began a new life of retirement. His brother and he know that it was Scott Lang who had the courage of confronting time-travel. They _knew_ that Tony had been reluctant. They knew that everyone but Pepper and Tony had worked over their heart’s content to help everyone every way they could. Just so they could have the perfect, suburban life? 

He didn’t blame Morgan. And, deep down, he didn't blame Tony nor Pepper. 

He just feels ... so _alone_. He was trapped underneath Skip. He was isolated when his dad and Morgan interact. He was shaking when someone in class brought up how heroic the Avengers had been. He was _exhausted_ when people told him he needed to work harder. 

The reality was almost too much. Sometimes Peter found himself thinking if it was all worth it anymore.


	13. deadline pickup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skip destroys the last hope Peter had. Tony's becoming less oblivious to Peter's behaviour and recognises the differences between his relationship between him and Peter compared to peter with Harley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning(s): non-graphic non-von , sexual assault , emotional / mental manipulation: 
> 
> ‘Skip had just finished with him — He didn’t sleep that night.’

Peter shouldn’t have gone to Natasha. 

Another month of Hell, and as much as he adored Natasha, it was constant leering over her end. Being a trained assassin gave her an advantage into his life. That was a disadvantage for him. Because now he had her on his tail.

_ (it’s what you wanted. for someone to pay attention) _

_ (it’s strange, isn’t it? he doesn’t want anyone to know, yet he’s subtly trying to get people to notice) _

Comprehension for him lately hadn’t been his strong point; he didn’t want anyone to know what Skip had done to him. There was still a yet at the end of every sentence, however.

He cleans his sheets immediately after Skip leaves him. The aftermath of having to clean his bedsheets almost every week was over the point of fatigue. His body reacted either positively or negatively, and the self-hatred was sky-rocketing. Or how his body had decided to regress itself into a two-year-old toddler and waking up having to completely strip his whole bed in the middle of the night. 

Pepper was beginning to notice the ridiculous consistency of the washing, scrubbing, the obsession to have everything  _ perfect.  _ If Peter couldn’t make himself perfect for Tony, for Morgan, for Pepper, school, or Skip, then the least he can do was prioritise other activities.

They were beginning to pick up on the odd things that trap his body like a shadow. He knows his mood swings have put everyone (including poor Morgan) on edge. He’s either happy, irritated or sad. Morgan and May embrace most of his happiness. Ned and MJ release his frustration. And Tony and Pepper … it’s hard, but he couldn’t seem to bulk the same energy he held before the war. Before Skip. 

And Natasha? She was on his tail. 

**mama spider:** _ Bruce needs a lab partner, kiddo. Get your ass over here.  _

Though Natasha’s intentions for Peter’s well-being was analysing every part of his movements, she also seemed to enjoy fooling around Bruce and he did inside the lab. Without Tony’s knowledge, Peter had spent the majority of his lab time with Bruce. Tony spent most of his time either asleep after a day of work or playing with Morgan, Peter and he didn’t seem to bond over their lab time anymore. 

Yet after all of the persistent hiding, he’s turning corners. 

When Ned questioned him about his time with Skip: “Well, Ned, he prefers to play in the bedroom than he does with Morgan downstairs.” His snark is very obviously pissing Ned off lately. 

May asked why he’s spending less and less time at his house, as Peter is making home right at May’s: “I don’t wanna be anywhere near that house when Dad’s not there.” May, bless her heart, had a good talk with him after that. They both sat down in her living room and had Thai for dinner. Peter ended up falling asleep with his head in her lap. 

Pepper told him he didn’t need to keep on perfecting the entire house. “Anywhere he touches is instantly violated.” Pepper knew he was talking about Skip. She would chuckle lightly, telling him to stop being so dramatic; that Skip was not  _ that _ bad. 

Then Tony had told him to stop stressing or running away whenever Skip was present: “Dad, I got homework to do.” It wasn’t as prominent as the others; how was Tony supposed to know he was actively avoiding Skip? And when Peter  _ was _ downstairs with Skip, he’d either curl up beside Tony, or he’d be on the opposite side of the room whilst the adults interact. 

Tony had spoken to him about Skip. They kept dodging the question of what had happened that Saturday night. Peter will not speak a word. And it always ended with a row. The strain pulling from each end of the strong was tethering. There wouldn’t be much time before it snapped. It was his fault for pushing his father away. 

At this point, maybe it would be better to stay close to Skip. That was someone who vaguely cared about him to an extent. Where would the man get his sexual pleasures from? Certainly not his girlfriend that he had.

The one thing he hadn’t managed to fuck up yet was his relationship with Morgan. 

She forgave him. 

He spent an hour in her room explaining why he had to get her home. With an intelligent mind like her own, she learned that talking to strangers was bad. And she knew that when a stranger invited little kids like herself into their houses, (or the typical story of asking them if they wanted any sweets or they had puppies in their car) was corrupt and  _ wrong.  _ She apologised to him for being angry at him and hugged him. 

He awoke the next morning still in her bed and with Morgan’s head lying on his shoulder. 

He couldn’t think of anything else. Not even the excitement that Morgan furnished about Harley’s return home hadn’t made him any less numb. 

Skip had just finished with him. They didn’t do anything particularly special; the man had Peter on his knees for a while. Peter only just managed to tune it out. He didn’t think his body could cope with any more pain. He may have greater healing powers than most, but it still maimed him. With his malnourished body came the slowing down of his healing. Bruises shaped into fingertips were lasting more than two days—they stayed there for a week. The cuts and stinging scratches didn’t scab over until twenty-four hours later. 

Skip didn’t like where his physical health was going.

“Your ribs are sticking out,” the man observed casually as if he wasn’t busy zipping up his fly. 

Peter looked down. They weren’t, per se, prominent. But they were starting to show.

“I thought bruises healed within a day for you.” 

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. The teen was no longer embarrassed to be naked in front of the man. Skip had seen everything. 

“Your dad will see.” 

Was that a desperate cry in Skip’s tone?

A small, upturn of the lips lit up Peter’s face. He pulled his clothes on, fingers stiff but hands shaking. He was cold even though the heaters were on. He may turn the temperature up a little later.

“Why are you smirking?”

Peter sat back on his bed, lying down and curled into his side. Elli was pressed tightly against his chest, cold fingers like ice against the flushed heat of his cheeks. “You."

Skip chuckled darkly. Once he was clothed there was a dip in the bed. Peter held his breath as the man wrapped possessive arms around the teen’s waist, breathing in Peter’s boyish scent. “Finally coming to terms with me?”

“You wish.” Peter scooted away from him. He flushed darkly when the man grappled him to stay against his chest. Peter buried his nose into the soft fur of the elephant. Well, what was left of its soft fur. From the countless tears, phlegm and saliva, it’s quite matted and rough now. But it was still a huge comfort. Elli reminded him that everything was going to be okay; he’s protecting his baby sister and older brother.

Sometimes, after a night like this, he would leave his bed once he’s replaced the sheets and duvet and wander to Harley’s room; he would more often than not devour himself underneath the covers that are washed at least once a month be Pepper and cry, wishing for arms that belonged to his big brother—to hold him and tell him jokes; to make him smile, laugh—to make him happy.

Skip’s cold lips were by his ear, placing soft kisses to his cheek and jaw. Peter was swallowing back bile and his breathing was borderline hyperventilating. 

“You never answered my question,” Skip said huskily. “Why are you smiling? I don’t need a snarky reply.” 

Peter stared at his closed door. His room was lit by his nightlight and lampshade. Lately, those two lights have not been enough to help him sleep. If at least for a little while. He had his main light on when he fell asleep recently. When he fell asleep in Harley’s room he made sure the main light was on. Even the past couple of times he’s fallen asleep with Morgan he’s put on the main light. Morgan never questioned it; she knew of his fear of the dark. She had never asked why he currently liked all of the lights on (this included the hallway light on, even though his dad, ever the last one to be awake, turned the hallway light off. Peter, when he hears Tony’s breath slow to a sleepy haze, turns the light back on with his door wide open) because her developing brain didn’t need to know the answers to that. 

“Parker.” 

Skip took great pleasure in taunting Peter as ‘Parker’. He also happened to refer to Harley as ‘Keener’. Peter knew he was doing it to separate him and his brother from Tony. Peter may have kept Parker as his last name, but he’s also a Stark. And nothing will change that. However, it seemed to everyone that he’s not a Stark. And he never will be. 

“Awh, you not talkin’,  _ baybay?”  _ His voice continued to mock and mock and  _ mock.  _

“You ever terrorised anyone else?” asked Peter. He’d grown a pair of balls tonight. Wherever he got them from, he would like to have them more often. Most days and nights spent with Skip held Peter hostage as a meek, submissive mouse. 

Another chuckle was suppressed from Skip. “I wouldn’t call it terrorising, Einstein. Many enjoyed my company.” 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. The false hope of his would-be: Tony walking through the door and tearing Skip away from his son’s body. But they were home alone. Pepper and Morgan were out. And Tony was out with Rhodey. 

_ (what’s the point in the panic button if you’re never going to use it?) _

__ His gaze fell to the wristwatch. He sighed shakily, tucking it under the elephants head. 

“Who?” Peter cringed at how his voice wobbled. 

Skip uncurled himself from Peter’s small body. He sat up, piercing eyes still lingering on Peter. 

“This boy; this girl. That boy; that girl.”

“So … s-so I wasn’t your first one?”  _ Please don’t let it be true  _ —don’t make it so Peter feared the worst; that Skip had done this before to individuals who most likely didn’t have any strength or fight in them; who were younger and more terrified of the man that stood above them. 

A hand trailed to his hip. “Oh no, Einstein. And I doubt you’ll be my last.”

Peter suddenly sat up, rage pooling in his chest as he turned to strike Skip. However, his eyes caught the man’s and before he knew it, those eyes had demanded him to submit. 

Skip’s bigger hand caught his own and pushed him down onto the bed. 

This had never happened. Skip always turned Peter so he had his face stuffed into a pillow. To that, most sickeningly, Peter has always been grateful. He didn’t think he would be able to face Skip at this angle. It was too intimate; too close for comfort. 

After a brief second of staring up at Skip, Peter’s hand found its way to his watch, shaken hands ready to press down on that one button.

_ (i’ll be there in an instant, peter. f.r.i.d.a.y. will pull me through) _

His finger pressed down on the button.

_ (i’ll be there for you, kiddo. you hear me?) _

**1 … 2 …**

_ (no one will hurt you) _

**3 … 4 …**

_ (i won’t let that happen) _

Skip’s hands were pushing his own aside. The last of the countdown was a failure. Skip was smart; he knew what Peter was intending to do and all of a sudden, the watch was being torn from Peter’s wrist and thrown across the room. There was an obvious crack on the glass. Skip wasted no time in following the mess and quickly stomping on the deteriorating watch. 

Peter choked on a sob. He shot up, watching as Skip destroyed his last bit of definite security. 

“I want my dad,” Peter cried without realising. His shoulders shook and tears came crashing down without his permission. “I want Dad!” Calling for his daddy like a defenceless, little two-year-old. How pathetic. How _ childish.  _ He should be able to pick and defend his own battles. 

Hands were on him again. He struggled to fight back. His emotions were high, and he was so angry and so scared that his cries became louder and louder. 

“No more! I can’t, Skip! Stop it, please! I just want Dad!” 

But his pleas’ fell on deaf ears. 

His dad was a hero, right? He was meant to save people. Then why was Peter’s mouth being assaulted by Skip’s? Why did he feel the tell-tale sign of his zipper being reopened once more and calloused hands attacking him where he kept himself most private? 

Why wasn’t his dad here when he needed him most?

Peter was gasping for air, tears never-ending. His chest was constricting painfully around the greedy air of gulps he was continuously taking. 

He can’t take this anymore. It hurts. The pain, the lack of breath, the crying. He wanted it all to stop. He wanted time to stand still so he can, for once, take a breather he believed he deserved. 

Did he deserve that breath of fresh air? 

Because when Skip finally finished with him and left him there, turning off all of the lights and slamming the front door shut, Peter couldn’t help but feel so dirty. So used. So useless. He tried fighting back but he wasn’t good enough. He tried calling for his dad but he wasn’t quick enough. 

Elli had been thrown to the side by Skip’s assaulting hands. The plush was so far from reach. And what came with the dark of the room was the subject of unseeing. 

That comfort he thought he deserved. But that wasn’t needed. Nor the help of the pain relief.

He didn’t sleep that night. 

Nor did he hardly get a wink of sleep for the rest of the week. 

*

“Right, kiddo’s!” Tony clapped his hands to gain the attention of his two kids. He was facing Morgan who was busy doing her maths homework. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter jump, sitting up on the sofa. He had nothing on his lap. He didn’t even have his phone out. 

Morgan immediately put down her pencil, more intrigued by Tony’s enthusiastic tone than her maths homework. 

“I think I know what’s about to happen,” said Morgan, a smirk edged on her face.

“Do you now, little miss? Care to tell me what?” 

Morgan faked a thinking face, lips puckered and eyes drifting to the ceiling. “So, it’s December the 13th. It’s a Wednesday. Sooo~”

“Sooo~?” Tony mimicked amusedly. 

Morgan jumped from the armchair, hands up in the air with an excited squeal. “Harley’s comin’ home!”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it!”

Tony turned toward his youngest son and was disappointed to find that Peter wasn’t as enthusiastic as he hoped he would be. He was still staring off into space; it was as if Peter never heard him. 

“Bambi? You wanna travel with us?” Tony asked, his voice soft with anticipation. 

Peter chewed the skin on his thumb. Tony had to prevent himself from scolding the teen. “Yeah, why not?”

Morgan wandered over to Tony, holding onto his leg. He got the message and lifted her into his arms. It is becoming easier to lift his little girl, something he had missed doing. He’d still managed to do it, but his injured arm would start to throb after a while. Bruce and Helen were happy to hear that his arm was beginning to hurt because that meant the nerves in his brain were sending wave signals to his arm to start gaining consciousness again. 

“Okay, get your stuff together. Harley should be arriving in an hour, and we need to be early.” Tony began walking from the living room, Morgan still in his arms and wandering to the kitchen to take a small snack for his kids. “Pete? Want anything to eat?”

There was a brief moment of silence. Tony was ready to ask again, even though Peter should have heard that. He answered, “No thanks!” but Tony ignores the reply and grabs Peter cookies to snack on as well as an apple. Once he collects Harley, he may take his kids to McDonald’s if he’s feeling generous. 

Once he had packed the snacks for his kids, he opted for Morgan and Peter to start making their way to the airport. Harley had been transported there via coach as MIT was in New York, too short for there to be a plane. 

“Petey, you don’t have to come with us.” Morgan was holding the bag that contained the snacks. Tony looked over and found Peter very gradually moving with them to the front door. Tony didn’t want to get annoyed. He couldn’t count the number of arguments he and his son have had in the past month or so. If he started a fight now, he feared he wouldn’t be able to get it off of his chest anytime soon. It isn’t as if they ever apologise to each other—both are as stubborn as a mule. 

“You sure you’re up for this, Peter?” said Tony, reluctant to push any further. “Remember, this is a small trip.” 

Peter stared at the door and shrugged. “I have nothing else to do.”

“Are you not looking forward to seeing Harley?” said Morgan. “He’ll be excited to see you.” 

Peter grunted in response. “I can sense that, Morgan. I’m coming. I won’t be  _ that  _ much of a bother.” The teen skid past the two without saying anything else, obviously wanting to get this over and done with. Tony believed he would have to speak to Peter about his on-going attitude. The way he was speaking not only to himself and Pepper but to Morgan as well was starting to get under Tony’s skin. 

They all clamped into the car. Happy was already sitting securely in the driver’s seat, greeting Morgan when she very enthusiastically tells him about her school day. Tony glances back at Peter when he secures his seatbelt, finding the boy’s eyes boring through the seat in front of him—the one Happy was occupying. 

“Pete,” Tony coaxed, “you okay?”

A nod later and Peter was turning his head towards the windows. He curled his feet onto the seat, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing the hoodie he came home in from spending the night at Natasha’s. He deemed it to be one of Clint’s old hoodies but never questioned the teen about it. 

“What’s up with the kid?” Happy murmured.

Tony huffed. “He’s in a bad mood.”

“I’m actually not,” Peter snapped from the back seat.

Tony turned again, raising his eyebrows at Peter. “Uh, watch your tone.” 

The teen said nothing, curling more into himself. The hollow feeling was expanding more and more as Tony watched this unravel. All he’d been getting from his son was a mix of messed up signals. He’s seen nothing wrong between the interactions between Skip and Morgan, he’s been more careful; he knows something must have happened that Saturday night. He hadn’t even known about that Decathlon competition, so who was there to see Peter?

Skip must have been. Tony figured it out perfectly. The patience was finally wearing thin for him. Not only did it unsettle Tony deeply to think that this man—a young, bright man who he had trusted for years now—has had anything to do with Peter’s downfall, but the guilt that had been bypassing Tony for the last month because of his theory had led to him distancing himself from Peter rather than closer.

Where had those two years gone? 

After the Civil War, the two had worked on their relationship. The  _ three  _ had worked—him, Harley and Peter. Tony had done everything he could for his two boys, but he had always been so busy and occupied with the Avengers he hadn’t realised how much he neglected his son’s care. Not to the extent that Howard had—as Tony had promptly promised himself from the moment Harley was born that he would be better than that—but he saw his boys on the weekends because, by the time he had finished working during the weekdays, his boy’s were already in their rooms, settling down for bed. 

Tony became so close to his boy’s during those two years of absent Avenging. Even more protective, more active in their lives. And it hurt so much to lose them when the Snap happened. 

Then why can’t he talk to his boys now? Every day he and Harley talk, but it didn’t feel the same because the boy was in college. Every day he and Peter spoke, but it was becoming harder and harder to read and communicate with his youngest son. It was to the point where it exhausted Tony to have a conversation with Peter because it would always either end with them disagreeing on something or Peter snapping because he wasn’t feeling particularly verbal that day. And Tony became angry—not towards Peter, but towards himself for giving up on the teen so easily. 

All three Stark boys have separated more deeply than they had before the Civil War. At least before they were close; at least they were in each other's presence as calm and utopian as can-be. However, the Snap distanced the boy’s because they were out-of-touch. And it was Tony’s fault. He could have thought of time travel years ago, yet he didn’t have the mental capacity to do so. 

“Can Peter and I go in to meet him?” Morgan said after an hour into the journey. Tony had been staring out the window, wishing he could be free like he was before. He and Natasha will forever be kept underground for a long time. There are only a few places Tony could go without being recognised. Even leaving the country was a risk.

“Of course, princess,” Tony replied with a small yawn. When Peter said nothing he looked over only to find that his son was curled up against the window with his eyes closed. He was asleep with a small frown on his face. It made Tony want to reach over and gather the teen up in his arms and onto his lap. “I’m sure Peter will lead the way.”

“We should have made one of those signs for him. You know?” Her smile was contagious and Tony couldn’t help but replicate it.

He watched on as she looked back out the window, babbling ado to Happy. She looked so fragile, so tiny in her car seat. Both Harley and Peter had been tiny when they were her age, and Harley had just surpassed Tony in height. Peter scarcely passed 5 '7 at sixteen. From Tony’s memories, he remembered Mary being particularly petite, and whilst Peter hadn’t inherited that, he certainly didn’t get any bonus points from his father’s height. Perhaps it didn’t help that Peter had a small build as it was, but Tony’s 5 ‘9 was an inch or two below average. He couldn’t help those memories of being picked on for his ‘short’ height at age sixteen.

Tony looked away from Morgan and let his gaze linger on Peter. He looked even smaller curled up in a ball like a little fawn tucked against his mother. Left vulnerable to a predator. 

“And what would the sign say, exactly?” He looked away from the teen, the churning in his stomach not settling. 

Tony figured he might as well keep this little conversation going. After all, Morgan is tired and talking to her will allow her to fall asleep. They have at least half an hour left before they reach the airport. Not ideal for Morgan to fall asleep, but Tony would feel safer if he kept the young girl in the car and allowed Happy and Peter to greet Harley. Happy would be able to protect Peter from the paparazzi. If all three went in there, then Happy would automatically protect Morgan. Tony didn’t think Peter was up to deal with questions asked about his father’s death at the moment. 

“Welcome home, Harley.  _ Duh.  _ ” 

“Of course, how silly of me.” 

The outside was painting itself in a light shade of dark blue by the time they made it to the airport. Morgan hadn’t fallen asleep and Peter was just starting to wake up.

“Rise and shine, kid,” Tony said softly. 

Peter groaned and rubbed his eyes. His feet were curled under him. The position for anyone else would have been incredibly uncomfortable, but his son’s freaky spider-powers allowed him to be more flexible than most humans.

“Petey, wake up! We gon’ see Harley!” exclaimed Morgan, already unbuckling her seatbelt. 

Tony freaked, quickly—and at such an awkward angle—catching her hand. “Morgan, no taking off your seatbelt before we stop!” His raised voice jolted Peter into full-wakefulness. His eyes drift to where Tony’s hand laid over Morgan’s, a haunted look that Tony couldn’t describe written on his face.

Morgan’s face morphed from animated to shame, her cheeks turning a deep scarlet. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m just excited.”

Tony sighed. He may have let his grey hairs grow out in these past five years, but he swears he was prematurely going white from the scares his children continue to give him. “It’s okay … it’s okay…” 

“Boss?” Happy’s voice was prompting as he parked the car into a parking space. His eyebrows were furrowed. Tony knew he looked a little ridiculous at the moment. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was sweating right now. “You want me to stay in the car with you?”

Before Tony could give Happy an answer, Peter unbuckled his seatbelt and spoke. “Happy, you stay in the car with Dad. I can go in.”

Morgan’s pout returned as Tony took his hand away, leaning back in his seat as his heart came to calm. 

“But I wanna see Harley…”

Peter shook his head. “If you guys stay here and that—I don’t want the paparazzi swarming you, Morgan.”

Tony could almost sense the tell-tale sign of tears coming on. He wasn’t prepared for something like this. Both his babies were tired and irritated. A third will soon join. They all just needed a good night's rest.

“Daddy…” Morgan whimpered from her seat. 

Tony huffed out a breath. His gaze landed on Happy’s. “Hap, you and the kiddies go. I’ll be fine on my own. I’m a big boy.”

Happy’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “Of course you are, boss.” 

Tony watched as the tears from Morgan’s eyes disappeared and the tension from Peter’s shoulders decreased. If only a little. Tony knew Peter felt so much safer with Happy by his side.

The oldest Stark sat alone in the car as the other’s scattered out. As they did, the heavens opened and rain burst from the dark clouds. The sky was nearing an electrifying black shade as the stars and moon were covered by the clouds. Tony watched peacefully as raindrop after raindrop splashed against the windows of the car. 

Having Harley back could mean many things. 

Peter would have someone to talk to. Morgan would have another to steer her away from Skip who happened to be twisting Tony’s gut more and more with each passing day. He would have to talk to Harley about it. 

Harley was incredibly protective of Peter. They were close because when their father was away, all they had was each other. Protection was rained into their veins, and Harley’s blind older brother's protective instinct doubled when he found out Peter was Spider-Man. Nevermind that Peter was physically stronger than him, Harley didn’t care. It was all Tony could have hoped for after his failure of being there for them. With Harley home, perhaps Peter would be able to swim through that dark cloud more. 

There was a knock at Tony’s window and he bounced back. Only for the car door to open and for him to get an armful or Harley Stark. 

“I  _ actually _ missed you, Jesus!...” Harley said into the crook of Tony’s neck. 

The older laughed, squeezing his oldest child more tightly than necessary. “Dad will do just fine, bud.” 

“Screw you.”

Tony closed his eyes briefly, soaking up Harley’s presence. He was shivering slightly, cold raindrops falling from his hair. 

“I missed you, too.”

They hugged for a little longer before Harley pulled away. “Better close this car door before the pap gets here.”

“They didn’t harass you, did they?” Tony held a frown on his face. One of the reasons he wished he was alive in the media was not for his ego, but so he could kick anyone who dares slander his children’s names. They were much kinder with Morgan because she’s never been in the spotlight. Only after his death did the media find out about her. And because she’s young, they were sympathetic to her. But when it comes to his sons, they were not so kind. In the past, every time it happened, Tony would have a field day ripping the media apart for so much as making a single insult about one of his boys. 

Harley made a  _ pssht  _ noise and waved his hand dismissively. “Pretty sure I accidentally broke one of their cameras but…” 

“That’s my boy.” Tony winked at him and Harley flipped his invisible long hair behind his shoulders. 

The boy clambered in the back in between his two younger siblings. Nevermind the back contained three seats.

“Daddy! Harley dropped a man’s camera!” Morgan struggles a little as Happy tries buckling her in. 

Peter had a small smile on his face. “He asked a silly question.”

“And what question was that?” said Tony. Happy finally managed to get Morgan settled in and 

Harley cleared his throat, causing both of his younger siblings to giggle at his dramatic start. “Harley Stark, care to answer this question? —how do you feel about being responsible for Peter and Morgan after the death of your father?”

Tony gaped and Peter laughed. 

“It was ridonkulous.” Peter moved his body so he was facing his brother more. “Does Pepper not exist anymore?”

“Nah, she’s still grieving.” 

They both continued to laugh about it. Tony should scold them for laughing over the matter. After all, people have lost their parents. Peter lost his mother, step-father and uncle, yet they are laughing over silly interview questions. 

But those thoughts quickly leave his mind when he realises that Peter’s mood had gone from uncharacteristically quiet to laughing and interacting with his siblings. 

He wasn’t wrong when he thought Peter would open up to Harley more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief note , tony never neglected the boys as much as he fears he did. he was just oblivious in his younger days , especially before the snap. but his mindset is not the best , and , much like peter , he has a huge guilt complex. the third fic to this story is based around a load of flashbacks from when harley and peter were younger and focuses on the relationship growth between everyone before the snap. sooo , stick around if you do enjoy :) <3


	14. truth to his excess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley is home and questions arise with hardly any answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning(s): second to last paragraph , there is a brief description of sexual harassment

Harley gazed at Peter from across the room. He was sitting in the corner, seemingly drifting towards the corner to hide once they came back home. The teen did not say a word as they made their way into the house. Harley couldn’t help but notice the way their dad’s eyes followed his little brother as they settled in. 

Happy offered to take Harley’s bags despite the reluctance in his tone. Harley didn’t miss the chance and said a small thank you as he settled into the living room. And Peter hadn’t bothered to interact once as Morgan shoved a movie into the T.V. 

“Hey, bud? You okay?” Harley called Peter. 

The teen looked up, nodded and smiled at Harley. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

It had been months since he had last seen Peter. That Saturday with his decathlon team and Skip. He hadn’t been a skittish bundle of nerves last time. 

“Just checkin’ in on you.” There was an awkward pause between the two. Harley sent a small smile in his brothers’ way. Did Peter return it with the same amount of enthusiasm? No, of course, he didn’t. 

Morgan remained blissfully oblivious as she continued to watch Frozen 2, mumbling the lines of the script underneath her breath. She had sat next to Harley, snuggling closer, though Harley would never call it snuggling. Just a little hug with his sister that would most likely last for the next couple of hours. But because Harley had been away from both his siblings, he was giving his physical attention to his baby sister and verbal attention to his baby brother. 

“Hey, how is … everyone?” Harley needed to make some sort of verbal communication with Peter. The boy wasn’t giving him anything. Usually, it was Peter to carry on the conversation; all excited hand movements and non-stop talking to the point where Harley wished his little brother would shut-up. Their dad called it his ‘word-vomit’ thing. Now he was regretting ever thinking that. The only other time Harley had witnessed Peter this quiet was when his uncle Ben had died. And that lasted for weeks. 

Harley remembers their dad and Aunt May suggesting a therapist for Peter. He went into a state of numbness for such a long time that Harley found himself crying for Peter. His brother would not talk. He wouldn’t smile. He wouldn’t do _anything._ And it terrified him. 

This time … this time it seemed a lot worse. 

He was ecstatic in the car. Smiling, laughing, asking question after question. Harley would have not noticed if anything had changed. However, as they came closer and closer to home, Peter’s loud demeanour turned sour and became a shell behind that persona. 

Why didn’t Tony say anything to him? How long had Peter been this way? 

Did Dad even notice anything? 

Harley snapped out of his thoughts when the small, timid reply came from Peter a while later. 

_(why should it take so long for someone to answer?)_

_(something’s wrong)_

“Everyone’s fine.” There was a short pause. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

Harley blinked stupidly. “Ohhkay.” He turned his gaze back to the T.V., yet, in the corner of his eyes, he still watched as Peter fidgeted in the background. Eyes not on the T.V. No phone glued to his hands. Nothing.

For the rest of the afternoon, it was a battle for Harley to speak with Peter. He remained a ghost to Harley’s questions. It was like he was talking to a brick wall, and it began to wear on Harley. Eventually, he gave up. Not once did Peter become frustrated by Harley’s questions. He answered with one of two words at the most. He was being oddly patient for someone like Peter. 

By the end of the night, Harley would begin to run out of patience himself. 

The rustling of the door opening made all kids' heads turn towards the front door that wasn’t even in their line of sight. 

“Mommy’s home!” Morgan announced, slipping out from under Harley’s arm and running towards the door. Harley and Peter stayed where they were. Well, Harley stood up, ready to greet Pepper when she made her way into the living room. To which she did with Morgan positioned on her hip.

The woman’s face lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw Harley.

Morgan wiggled from her clutch, knowing her mother wanted nothing more than to wrap the teenager up into a bear hug.

“Hey, Pep,” greeted Harley. 

Both of them embraced. Harley closed his eyes, missing the natural sweet scent Pepper always gave off. It reminded him of when he was a little boy and Pepper was stuck playing with him and Peter. 

“I’m glad you’re home, baby,” Pepper mumbled. 

Harley smiled, living in the moment between Pepper, someone he’s known all of his life. “I missed you too.” He knew how to bounce back and forth between the banter he, Tony and Peter have when it came to nurturing. But when it came to Pepper or May, all three boys were not afraid to show their soft sides. 

“Daddy says we can get take out,” Morgan interrupted, her small hands tugging at Harley’s hand. The teen pulled away and immediately lifted her. 

“Did I now?” Tony comes from the dining room where he had been playing with some holograms. 

Harley couldn’t care any less about it. It was Stark Industries’ problem. He and Peter may be taking over one day, but they still might have a change in heart. The job would most likely be passed down to Harley (also depending on what Morgan will get up to) as Peter was more into biology and chemistry than mechanical engineering. 

Morgan pouted at Tony. “Well, you implied it.”

Peter looked up from his place on the sofa. His finger was occupying his mouth; Harley could see the skin he continued to pull from his finger. It made him cringe—he and Tony were never a big fan of Peter’s nail and finger biting. 

“We’re not going out again, are we?” he questions solemnly. 

“Oh, cheer up, Pete,” Harley huffed at Peter’s sour mood. “I’m sure we can make a trip to Burger King.”

Before anyone else could reply, Peter spoke again, this time a bit firmer. “We could have easily picked up some dinner on the way back but we chose not to. There’s no point in going back out again.

Harley and Tony frowned. They both looked at each other and Pepper came forward to sit down on the sofa, focussing her entire attention on the angsty teenager. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

Peter’s face morphed into a dark frown. “Don’t call me that. God” —his gaze landed to Tony, Harley and then Morgan, an angry scowl on his usual bright features— “can you all stop looking at me like that?”

Harley swallowed uncomfortably. He felt Morgan bury her face by his neck as if she was intimidated by the boy’s verbal lash. 

Pepper tried to speak again, then to be cut off by Peter abruptly standing up and moving from the living room. “I’m not even hungry. You can all go out to eat.”

Tony turned to catch Peter but the boy was already making his way upstairs. “You better watch the way you speak to us, young man!”

“Just leave me alone!”

There was a slam of a door. 

Harley was stunned to silence. His eyes drifted to Tony again and then to Pepper. “What?...”

The teen was horrified to see his dad on the verge of tears before he wiped a hand across his face rather aggressively and sighing shakily. 

“Dad?” Harley tried. He had no idea what in the world just happened and even he felt like crying at his brother’s outburst. He hadn’t seen Peter like that in so long. And it made Harley want to march up those stairs and confront Peter right away. However, from the quietness that radiated from Morgan, the distressed look on Tony’s face and the way Pepper hung her head in defeat, Harley had a feeling he had a right to sit both parents down and demand to know what the hell had gone on whilst he had been away. “Dad?” He tried again. “Pep?”

“I’m hungry…” Morgan said innocently. Her little mind was trying to block out the tense moment that had just happened between the family. Her mind automatically went to an upcoming positive thing, and that was thinking of what she would like to eat for dinner. 

Pepper stood up. “Alright. Um…”

Harley didn’t know what was more terrifying; seeing Pepper at a loss for words or the absurdity of the situation. 

Pepper glanced towards Tony who looked to be in some sort of a daze. “I’ll order us some dinner, yes?”

“Mmm?” Tony shook himself from his wandering mind and nodded towards his wife. “Yeah, that’ll be a good idea. Munchkin here is gettin’ hungry.”

A small smile radiated Morgan’s face. She took her head from Harley’s shoulder, nodding. “I want a cheeseburger and fries.”

“Just get an Uber to deliver for us,” said Tony. “It’s easier than going out.”

“I think Peter wants you to stay here, so it’s best we don’t go out,” said Pepper.

“I don’t think he wants to see me at all at the moment.”

The sentence was so unlike Tony that Harley butted into the absurd conversation once again—he wasn’t getting any answers and it was starting to get on his last nerve; this was his baby brother they were dealing with. Something was seriously wrong and no one had bothered informing him as such. “What’s _happened?_ ” he demanded impatiently. He kept a tight grip on Morgan to reassure her that he wasn’t angry or sulky with her. She seemed to understand and hugged him tighter. “I am so confused right now.”

“I’ll let you know later, Harley,” answered Tony, refusing to look at his oldest child. Harley felt sick to his stomach. 

Do you ever get that feeling that something was wrong? That there was a pit at the bottom of your stomach which was telling you that something was not quite right? It didn’t help that he had no idea what was happening. If Harley had a weak stomach, the sick feeling would have intensified. 

Even if Tony had not informed him of Peter’s drastic behaviour change, Harley should have noticed something. Peter went from calling him at least once a week to texting, then to particularly ignoring his texts. He was a far cry from his shy, happy-go-lucky and charismatic persona to a timid, angry ball of fire that burned ferociously if you stepped too close to it. 

“Should we order some burgers then, little miss?” Tony’s smile was back. But it didn’t quite reach the brown of his eyes. He took the little girl from Harley’s arm and into the kitchen they went. 

Harley felt his heart drop. He wanted more information. And not only that, he wanted more from _Tony._ He’s just come back home and Tony and he hadn't even spoken about his time at MIT. 

“Want me to help you unpack, Harley?” Pepper offered with a kind smile.

If he wasn’t going to get the attention he craved from his dad, then he’ll happily soak up whatever affection Pepper has to offer. 

They spent the next hour talking about MIT and what Harley had gotten up to. 

He found that despite the slight crease in his bed, his bedroom had not been touched. The slight crease had him wondering whether Peter had come in and slept in his bed for a while. It wouldn’t surprise him. Peter used to do it all the time when Harley spent every other weekend with his mother and sister. Those weekends normally consisted of Peter spending time with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, but on the odd occasion of them not separating at the same time, Harley would find out from either Tony or J.A.R.V.I.S. that Peter had spent the night sleeping in Harley’s room. 

It became a rarity the older they got. Sometimes Harley would find it a little pathetic; they’re siblings, they’re going to tease and bully each other. The older brother would relentlessly tease Peter if he found out his little brother had spent the night curled up in their father’s bed with Tony reading him to sleep. He also sometimes found himself complaining when he heard his bedroom door open (thank the Stark’s for being light-sleepers) and Peter worm himself into Harley’s bed, but eventually he had his arm curled protectively around Peter and they both drifted to sleep. The younger boy had always had a bout of separation anxiety. Now, however, it seemed as if he’d broken out of that habit in the most frightful way. 

“MOMMY! HARLEY, PETEY! CHEESEBURGERS ARE HERE!”

Harley and Pepper laugh at the pure childish glee at the prospect of finally having their cheeseburgers handed to them. Morgan’s favourite food was cheeseburgers after all. Much like Tony’s. Harley couldn’t say he blamed them. He much prefers pizza and Peter loved ice cream.

Harley and Pepper made their way downstairs with no sign of Peter. Harley didn’t miss the defeated look on Tony’s face when he found that Peter was not with them. Morgan looked just as upset. She turned to Tony, pouting. “Should I call him again, Daddy?” she asked, wringing her finger in front of her anxiously. What would make her so anxious to call up to her brother? Was she afraid of Peter snapping again? 

Tony shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, baby. Harls?” Harley already knew what Tony wanted him to do. As Harley hadn’t been around it was safer for the teen to deliver Peter’s meal upstairs and leave him be. It wasn’t something Tony nor Pepper liked. They liked to have dinner as a family. It made Tony’s anxiety diminish knowing that his family was safe and in front of him. “Do you mind taking it up for Peter?”

Harley nodded, quickly taking the bag from him. “I’ll be down in a sec. Can you grab me a drink?” 

Tony raised an eyebrow amusedly. “And what’s to stop you from getting it yourself?”

Harley hummed. “I think it has something to do with me being your favourite child.”

Morgan gasped. “That’s not true, is it, Daddy?” Her puppy eyes fell to their father. “I’m your favourite.”

Tony bopped her on the nose. “That’s right,” he said seriously. “You are my favourite _daughter._ ”

“I’m your _only_ daughter.” 

Harley rolled his eyes playfully as Tony told him that he would grab him some coke. The teen smiled and made his way upstairs, heading to the right.

As soon as he is stood in front of Peter’s closed door, his heart skips a beat. He supposes he should just knock. He didn’t want Peter becoming angry with him, even though that façade was not very Peter-like at all. And that scares Harley to the point of speechlessness. 

With a deep breath, Harley knocked tentatively. There was a short pause and then a small, “Yeah?” from the other side of the door. 

“Hey, bud, I got some food for you.” Harley didn’t know whether or not he should barge in and shove the food in Peter's hands, demanding to tell him what was wrong and for him to stuff his face to his heart's content. Tony ordered Peter the most as usual because his little brother’s metabolism continues to put Steve Rogers’ to shame. 

Another moment of silence passes. “Um, okay. Hang on a sec—” There was shuffling on the other side of the door, a short, muted cough and then Peter was opening the door. 

The older teen couldn’t help but let a dopey smile across his face when he saw Peter in an oversized hoodie (mainly because it was one of his old ones that he stopped wearing long ago when he grew out of it) and an old pair jogging bottoms. He looked comfy. His eyes were tired, and it looked as if he had been crying. 

Harley tried to ignore this and gave Peter his food. Peter took it without complaint and with a small ‘thank you’.

There had never been such a moment like now where things have been awkward between them. 

“Why don’t you come downstairs?” Harley asked with slight hesitancy in his voice. He didn’t need Peter blowing up again. 

Thankfully, Peter didn’t seem agitated by the request. His features softened from Harley’s offer. “Uh, n-no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Harley sighed, wrapping his arms over his chest to the sudden chill that seemed to seep into his bones. “I missed you.” It takes a lot for Harley to show his affection. Tony was the same, and Harley borrowed that trait from his father. Peter had always been very tactful, so he spent most of his time seeking hugs and physical contact from May, Ben and Pepper. It didn’t mean Harley and Tony were completely inept with physical contact. They made exceptions for Peter—for people close to them. 

Wording their affections seemed to be even harder. So when Harley told Peter his thoughts on Peter isolating himself from his family, the older brother was not surprised when Peter leaned forward, careful of the bag of food and hugged Harley. It was as if he was apologising for his behaviour today although Harley couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Peter’s change in personality. 

As repetitive his thoughts have been, something had happened. And that something was nothing short of good. 

Peter’s hug didn’t last as long as it normally would. When he pulled away, he was once again a shell of himself; a timid puppy stood in front of Harley instead of the one with wide, brown eyes with a hypothetical wagging tail behind him. 

Peter didn’t follow Harley downstairs to have his dinner. Nor did he for the rest of the next week.

*****

Christmas Eve was always a night where the Stark family would host and invite their extended family over. 

Harley found himself with Morgan on his shoulders as the small girl attempted to reach up and place the star on the tree that continued to fall off. It was the day after Harley came back home that they decorated the lake house for Christmas. Morgan wanted to dress their alpaca up but Tony refused, telling her Gerald would not appreciate such accessories. 

Peter, for the most part, seemed his normal self when helping them decorate their first-ever Christmas with Morgan. He had the job of climbing and sticking to the ceiling and walls to hang everything up. Morgan had a grand old time watching as her brother hung the fancy decor whilst TOny near enough had a heart attack every single time.

Tony did tell Harley what he suspected what was going on with Peter the night before. Perhaps it was a bad idea for Tony to tell him what Harley had been thinking himself.

Between that one Saturday night and now, the change in Peter was worse than the change from 2018 to 2023. He’s been irritated. He’s been having trouble sleeping. Short-tempered with Morgan. Came home with a failed test paper from Chemistry at one point. The school report for the end of the term described Peter as being quiet and uncooperative in class. Pepper and May have had their fair share of phone calls home to see if everything was alright. 

Tony told Harley that the teachers were easily fooled by the façade Peter places in the imagery of a child who had just lost their father. But his attention is far from that because he has his dad. 

That’s when Harley realised it was Skip. 

“Skip was there that night,” Harley had told Tony. And his dad knew, fearing the worst.

“He’s no longer at work,” Tony had replied. “No address left behind. His girlfriend doesn’t know anything—”

Harley had no choice but to cut him off, shaking his head vigorously. “You mean to tell me that none of this strikes you as odd?”

Tony looked angry when Harley said this. “Harley, I had no way of knowing. I’ve been in meetings, not around the actual workplace. I sought him out when I asked him to babysit Morgan.”

Harley swallowed, for whatever reason wanting to cry. “What do you think he did?” 

Tony didn’t have an answer.

But Harley did. 

_(how’s skip, pete?)_

_(can you keep an eye on him for me, pete?)_

_(seriously though, pete? he doesn’t … give off a creepy vibe?)_

_(his hugs last too long)_

_(his smile lingered on harley and peter for too long)_

It was all wrong. And Harley hadn’t seen it. Why had he automatically assumed something like this would be so limited to only Morgan? Harley couldn’t be sure. 

All he knew was that he had an eye to keep on his baby brother. Tony had purposely invited Skip over for Christmas.

People began arriving in the early afternoon. Harley had spoken to Tony and Pepper when the doorbell indicated that the first set had arrived. Peter and Morgan were in the living room, a light buzz of Christmas music playing in the background.

Both Harley and Tony were tense. 

It wasn’t as if Harley was waiting for the right moment. He couldn’t help but push himself away from Peter when he knew that Skip must have done something. Blackmailed him at the most? In what motive? To gain money as he remained as Tony’s ally? Wasn’t trusting him with the daughter of Tony Stark enough for him? 

_(harley, you can’t be this dense)_

“Uncle Clint!”

There were squeals from children. Pepper left the kitchen to greet the Barton’s. From the kitchen island, Harley could see Morgan had been swept into Clint’s arms. Harley remembered when the archer used to do that with him and Peter. 

“How’s the little munchkin?” Clint’s voice booms throughout the house. 

Harley swallowed, his head falling to his hand as he ruffled at the messy head of hair he had. The tradition of Tony having a get together every Christmas would not have changed after the Snap. But despite not knowing the extent of those five years and what they had felt like, Harley found that he’s become a little more anxious when it’s come to being around people he hadn’t yet seen or visited in a long time. 

“You gonna come through, chief?” Tony said lightly, drawing Harley’s head away from his hand. 

“I’ll come through in a sec,” he said, voice wobbly. Tony looks at him weirdly and Harley coughs, waving him off. “I’ll get the drinks and shit.”

“Language.” 

Harley rolled his eyes. “You never used to scold us for swearing.” Only half of that was true. Tony didn’t mind if Harley swore. If Peter said the odd swear here and there he didn’t care. He always (and probably will for the rest of their lives) draw the line at the ‘F’ word. 

Tony stood from the chair, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. His dad’s sleeping patterns were secure after the Snap, yet he looked more tired than Harley had ever seen him. “You have a little sister to set an example to. I don’t need you making a habit of swearing in front of her. Those words belong to Pepper.” 

Pepper poked her head around the corner of the room, raising her eyebrows at the two of them. “Are either of you going to socialise? Natasha’s also here.” 

Harley’s face lit up. 

“I’m up. I’m up.” 

He missed the way both Pepper and Tony smiled after him when he lightened up at the prospect of seeing Natasha. 

Tony abandoned the kitchen to follow his oldest child and wife to the living room. Natasha was indeed there and allowed a moment of vulnerability to scoop Harley into a hug. The height differences were amusing. Natasha wasn’t wearing shoes that had a small heel to them. She was in a soft hoodie and skinny jeans and had to stand on her tip-toes to wrap her arms around Harley’s neck. 

Sometimes Tony forgets how fast both Harley and Peter have had to grow up. And it’s seriously beginning to show. 

Gradually, friends that Tony hadn’t known he missed until now began piling in. 

Rhodey he hadn’t seen in weeks; the man had been away for military business. Happy arrived with May, and Tony barely got a chance to hug her before Morgan was on her. May had carried her with some difficulty to the sofa. Peter immediately relaxed when he saw his aunt, sitting next to her as they spoke animatedly to each other. Tony wished him and Peter could speak like that to one another like they once used to. 

The next to arrive was Bruce, a bag of presents behind him as he cheerfully greeted everyone with a small touch of his shyness still there. Skip arrived a little after and Tony almost had a surge of electricity pass by two other people in the room. 

Natasha, Harley and himself all sat rigid as they watched the man greet everyone. They happened to glance towards Peter whose face became a morph of a tiny child. Colour drained from his face and he had subconsciously burrowed more beside May. No eye contact was made. And no greeting was made between the two. It was so subtle—enough so that no one noticed. Unless you were looking, that is. 

Natasha couldn’t quite shake the feeling from her shoulders when that man walked in. Sleek and appealing smiles. Everyone seemed to _love_ him. She watched as not only Morgan but Nathanial greet the man with as much excitement as they did with everyone else. 

She wouldn’t have paid that much attention to the uncomfortable urge to settle herself down and observe like she had before she retired. If it were not for the way Peter had shrunk in on himself as soon as he so much as heard the dripping voice of the man.

“Natasha Romanoff? I’m Steven. But you can call me Skip.” He stuck out his hand to her and she took it politely. 

She had seen him briefly before. When Stark mentioned his name here and there when it came to babysitting his child. 

She’s never once met the guy. And he’s giving off bad vibes. 

How had Tony not noticed this?

No one else showed up to the lake house. At one point Morgan tried to drag Nathanial and the other kids outside by the lake. Pepper had quickly stepped in and told her the lake was half iced over, so there would be no ice-skating. There were a few protests, but after Harley suggested a game of _Hungry Hungry Hippos,_ the kids shut up, leaving them to debate who got the most balls. 

There came a light chatter once everyone had settled down. Peter watched dazedly by May’s side as the kids squealed and argued over their game. Bruce, Clint and Skip were chatting to each other in the corner. Or rather, Bruce and Skip were debating over science whilst Clint pretended to be interested, looking half asleep. 

Natasha continued to be tense. Beside her, she could feel the rigid bones beneath Tony’s skin where their arms met. She found his gaze was flicking between both Peter and Skip. 

“Hey, Nat.”

The ex-assassin startled when Harley made himself comfortable on the other side of her. She never recounted the day she would be stuck between the two Stark’s again. Not after she thought she would die after Vormir; the comfort was there and welcoming.

“You alright?” Natasha made a point of wrapping her arm around the lanky teen. He didn’t burrow into her, but he did lean the side of his head on her shoulder. “How’s MIT?”

Harley huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s all good at MIT. It’s here I’m concerned about.”

It took less than a second for Natasha to know who he was talking about. “Peter,” she said quietly. Wishing to herself that Peter would come over and speak to her. To interact with everyone. To do more than bury his face by May’s chest like a scared little fawn missing his mother. 

“Peter,” Harley repeated imperfectly. 

There was nothing else said between them. All three on the sofa chatting briefly to everyone. At one point Pepper offered another set of drinks before they started on the dinner. That was when Peter finally moved from his position curled next to May. 

“I’ll grab the drinks,” he announced quietly, just so Pepper could hear. Natasha heard. It wasn’t anything to evaluate his muteness to the innocent gesture; he’s normally much louder and brighter—unshy to his friends and family.

Pepper thanked him with a sweet smile and Natasha happened to glance at Skip whilst Peter disappeared. And those cold eyes followed the boy out of sight. 

The next thing Natasha knew, Skip was announcing his leave to Bruce, telling him he’s just going to the bathroom before vanishing beyond the corner Peter had dissolved into. 

Natasha couldn’t take it. And neither could the boys either side of her as well. 

Harley was the first up, his hands rubbing together in an anxious gesture and Natasha following after him. Tony shouldn’t be close behind them.

Natasha had to keep in mind that the downstairs to the cabin was only divided by one wall and the stairs. Part of the living room was connected to the kitchen and the other side of the kitchen was behind the single wall. Otherwise, Harley perhaps could have gotten there sooner. 

However, from the blur of picturising what Natasha saw in front of her, it had unmistakably gone on for a while. Peter’s submissive stance was not fighting against Skip’s body that was crowding over his much smaller stature over the counter, his mouth by the boy’s ear and hand about to slip into Peter’s trousers.

Natasha’s line of sight turned. She saw red. And she heard the animalistic cry of Harley right beside her before chaos endured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- stay safe <33


	15. deal with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to reconnect with Peter and take his time cracking Peter's shell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning(s): huge warning for this chapter: there are descriptions of skip being an asshole—i’m not sure how to describe him. he’s foul , as are any other child rapists / rapists are in general. 
> 
> quite graphic descriptions of violence. 
> 
> please read with caution.
> 
> my delivery for this chapter is slightly off , so i'm really sorry for that.

Peter couldn’t comprehend what was happening—the mess he had caused. 

One moment he went to get drinks for everyone as Pepper had politely asked as he offered. Then, Skip was following him, whispering things to him that he would love to do to him that night because he had been … _such a good boy._ He wasn’t trying anything other than to assess him quickly before he went back into the living room, lips wet by his ear and crotch pressed uncomfortably by his backside. 

Then … then he was being ripped from his back and a cry—almost in comparing the work of a wolf howl—sounded out. Peter turned in time to see Harley push Skip back and swung his fist in the man’s face. There was an audible crack as there was followed by the thump of Skip hitting the floor. 

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!” 

Harley wasted no time in flying towards the man, straddling him as he raised his fists again and began swinging at him—one after the other.

There was a buzzing in Peter’s ears, hearing the shouts and cries of others. It was almost in slow motion the way Clint came running around the corner at the sound of Harley’s angry yell and immediately tried pulling the teenager from Skip. Natasha's eyes were hard and unforgiving, her fists clenching in and out and Tony … Peter turned to his dad and their eyes trained on each other. 

At that moment, nothing else seemed to matter. They were here. Harley, his big brother, was here. His Dad was here. Already stumbling over to Peter, his name on the tip of his tongue. 

May was there as well, and Peter … well, he gravitated towards her. He couldn’t help it. As much as he wanted to curl up into a ball on his daddy’s lap, he couldn’t bring himself to. He saw the pure and utter rage and hatred in Tony’s eyes. Peter was a little afraid of what Tony would think of him—he would be disgusted to know his son had allowed that man to touch him. Disappointed that Peter was so weak that he couldn’t fight back. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t anything like his dad wanted him to be. 

_(i just wanted to be like you)_

_(and i wanted you to be better)_

He was never going to be good enough. Never _good_ enough. 

“Peter—” Tony’s anguished cry had Peter almost choking up. May’s arms were hesitant around him but he couldn’t help but flinch when his dad’s hand slipped into his, gripping tightly, almost bruisingly. 

Perhaps it would bruise. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be. 

“Alright! Harley! Off of him!” Clint’s shout was still ringing in Peter’s ears. 

“THIS MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD—NO! GET OFF OF ME!”

Peter’s teary eyes almost made it impossible to see what was happening. 

Natasha and Clint were pulling Harley away; Clint had his arms underneath Harley and Natasha was pulling away, and with one quick motion, she was pinning the man down. 

Blood caked Skip’s face. If Peter wasn’t so upset, he would have laughed maniacally at the sight. 

Harley was still screaming profanities, fists and the front of his shirt a crimson red, seeping and wet. Others had come round the corner. All sheer confusion and utter bewilderment on their faces. 

Peter felt himself shaking, breathing ragged and loud in his ears. He heard someone saying his name and he was sure May was trying to hold him up as he slowly collapsed to the floor. His dad’s hand was still holding his, which was beginning to comfort him; he was starting to look up and to call for Dad when suddenly, the hand was gone. And he was alone again.

_“Don’t you DARE TOUCH HIM AGAIN!”_

All Tony saw was the pure rage building behind him. It started as a light fuzzy daze when he realised what it was. The hand that belonged to nothing but a sick monster who dared lay a finger on his son. And he had tried reaching out to Peter, only to have him flinch away from his touch. He was weak to the touch, and as Peter slid to the floor with May sliding down with him, Tony so happened to watch as Skip struggled up and had managed to kick Harley in the shins. 

That was when Tony couldn’t take it anymore. That man had dared to touch Harley just when he had been violating Peter? Not a chance. And not in _his_ _fucking household._

He hadn’t even realised what he had screamed before he was pushing an equally as incensed Black Widow from the man and his fists came flying towards the man’s face. 

And the bastard had no shame in fighting back.

He was scared of Natasha—too cowardly to fight back. He had been in a daze when he felt Harley first hit him. Alas, Skip had the advantage of being bigger and younger than Tony. He was able to roll Tony over and try firing his punches. 

It was the wrong move.

“LET HIM GO!” Tony heard his oldest child scream. “LET HIM GO YOU BASTARD!” 

Tony couldn’t see anything past his resentment. Of all the pent up anxiety, worry, melancholy and aggravation for Peter, he was easily able to get back at Skip—his watch that transitioned from a digital watch to his Iron Man gauntlet around his wrist pinned the man down by his shoulder. It left Skip incoherent, the back of his head slamming against the wooden floor. 

The commotion around him—with Pepper pulling people from the kitchen and hopefully outside—didn’t faze what he saw on Skip’s face. A smile—a fucking grin rose on the man’s face, laughter bubbling from a pool of blood in his mouth. 

(Tony would have to praise Harley later for the blood running down both the man’s nostrils, for the chipped front tooth and cut underneath his eye—this man was going to put Da Vinci to shame by the time he was cleaned up).

_(physically, he’s pristine, isn’t he?)_

_(with perfect white teeth and a charismatic armour of gold)_

Tony sat in shock but didn’t show it. His eyes still trained on the man who not only began giggling hysterically but talking such foul words that Tony couldn’t even process until he was finished. 

“He liked it, Stark,” he whispered menacingly. “Ah, he loved my cock in his mouth. Such a dirty little boy you raised—”

Tony felt paralysed. He felt dainty but strong hands trying to tug him off of the man. He heard another voice screaming his name. He heard Morgan’s cry for him to _stop hurting Skip._ Harley’s yells of anger. Natasha’s silence. 

Peter’s crying… 

“Screaming, _begging for me…”_ Skip’s mouth continued to run. “He was so _tight._ So _good,_ Tony. No wonder you kept him around, otherwise, I would have abandoned him on that doorstep along time ago—”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, his iron hand gradually forcing itself to Skip’s throat. 

“Daddy! Don’t hurt him!”

His baby was crying; his baby _boy_ was crying out for him. But he couldn’t seem to stop his hand from closing around Skip’s throat.

“Dad! Dad! _Stop it!”_

There was a cry of, “Peter, don’t!” and suddenly, hands were pulling his shoulders back, away from Skip. He knew the hands of his youngest son, but he couldn’t help but fight back, the pent-up rage bubbling at the surface. He felt tears enter his eyes. This was all his fault.

“Daddy, you’re hurting him!—”

Tony whips around, all his focus on Peter. Those big, Bambi eyes staring at him with desperation and pools of tears falling down his cheeks. 

“HE WAS HURTING YOU!” Tony cried out. Skip had been forgotten. Everyone else was forgotten. It seemed to be him and Peter. Alone. Face-to-face and ignoring the controversy behind them. How Natasha and Happy had stepped in to take Skip away. Perhaps it _was_ just him and Peter. 

Tony couldn’t help but let out another sob. 

_(why are you crying?)_

_(your son was hurt, and you weren’t there for him)_

“He hurt you…” 

Tony couldn’t read the expression in Peter’s eyes. It was maybe too much at once. Anything could be dancing behind eyes hidden by an array of curls—how had Tony not noticed? How he never bothered with his hair anymore? Didn’t smile accordingly? His eyes without any sort of happiness in them at all? He’s been lost this whole time and Tony hadn’t suspected a thing until recently. 

“My baby…” Tony reaches up to tuck a curl behind Peter and curses himself mentally when the boy flinches away from his touch. 

Peter’s breathing had been erratically jumping for the last few minutes and before Tony could say anything else, his son turned and disappeared. If Tony hadn’t heard the familiar thumping of the boy’s steps up the stairs, he would have freaked and worried that Peter was running from the house. He didn’t. And no one who was left in the room with him—Pepper and May—were following him either. 

Tony’s gaze fell onto Pepper’s, hard and stern. “I want him locked away.” 

Pepper came forth, gathering Tony towards her and they both stood. May had tears in her eyes, her glasses discarded in her hands as if she didn’t want to see the construction that had set place in the kitchen. 

“And he will be—”

“Without question,” Tony interrupted abruptly. “Away forever. I don’t want him anywhere near my fucking house again. Nowhere near Morgan or Harley. And certainly anywhere near Peter.” Saying Peter’s name left a lump in his throat, and he could briefly note that he was crying. If it weren’t for Pepper shushing him and wiping his tears away, he wouldn’t have noticed. “If he even looks at Peter…” He broke off. He couldn’t take it. “Oh, _God…_ ”

Pepper turned and said something indistinctive to May. She nodded at her words. Tony could assume she had gone to care for Morgan. He had no idea where Harley had been dragged off to. He could hope to be patched up. Despite him getting the majority of the kicks in, it didn’t mean Skip didn’t have his fair share of hits to Harley’s face. 

“Pep…” Tony had to sit down on one of the bar stools. His knees consistently trying to buckle beneath him in despair. “Pepper, I-I can’t…” He broke off again, the sobs becoming too much. He wasn’t loud, but he did slump forward and let his face become buried in his crossed arms, his right suddenly—and all over again—becoming paralysed. Fuck it, his whole body was paralysed. If it were not for the persistent shaking that wracked his body with silent cries, Pepper would have believed him dead.

He felt like a coward. Sitting there, crying and not following Peter upstairs and confronting Peter as a father should. 

The gnawing guilt crashed into him like waves. The pain he felt for not himself but for Peter and for leaving him alone was enough to keep him from passing out from pure and utter melancholy. Rage and obscene thoughts have left his mind and all he could focus on was Peter. How had he been so dense to not notice a single thing? He worked out that it all started on that one Saturday—had it been going on since? And why hadn’t Peter said a _thing_ about it? 

_(he did)_

_(c-can, um, just be careful around him, okay? i don’t trust him with morgan)_

Peter had been warning him from the very beginning. 

_(please keep an eye on him)_

His selfish mind only thought of Morgan. Not once did he begin to think that Skip would do the unthinkable to his … to his … God, he can’t even begin to imagine—

“Tony…” Pepper’s voice was gentle and soothing. He brought his head up if only to gain a little bit of comfort from her. _Something I don’t deserve right now,_ he thought to himself. “Look at me.”

“I am, Pep,” he said, barely above a whisper. 

“No” —her hands gripped the sides of his face, forcing him to look at her— “you’re not.” She paused, her mind changing gears with every second she had to process what was going on. “None of us are going to be okay for a while. Not me. Not May, Happy, Morgan, Harley, Nat, you—Tony, Peter is not going to be okay. You can’t afford to give up on him now.”

Tony swallowed another sob bubbling up offhandedly from his throat. The breath he once had was taken when he heard Skip speak such foul words about his son. Peter didn’t inherit his asthma from Tony (he wasn’t sure where Peter got his asthma from—his mother never had it) but at the moment, Tony couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Peter felt after an asthma attack. Having finally caught his breath from the miracle-worker of his inhaler, yet still a little panicked—a little out of breath and lungs wavering with each small puff of air he took. His chest was still stuttering to keep up with another’s breathing and he felt light-headed and sick.

“Right now, you can’t think about the bad things,” Pepper continued, her hands still holding his face. She had lessened her grip; it felt less intimidating that way. “Right now, you are going to clean yourself up, and you are going to give Peter the support he needs. The support he needs from his dad.”

The prejudiced part of his brain wanted him to clean his hands, slip on a warm sweater and go to bed. Clouds that haven’t parted from the sky today were becoming dark with the lack of sun. It was nice to dampen the mood today, and it made Tony so tired. 

However, the sensitive part of his mind screamed at him to follow Peter and to confront him; not headstrong, but approach him like a baby animal who has been immorally injured by its predator. Like he used to with Peter or Harley when they came into his room when they were younger, seeking their father’s comfort after a bad dream or if there were crashes of thunder outside the window. If it was too dark, too much noise in their home, too much of anything; Tony found in those times he was never frustrated with his son’s as Howard would have been. They trusted that their dad would comfort them when needed. 

Nowadays, that has all stopped. Tony stopped providing that comfort and directed it all onto Morgan because she was the youngest. The poorest excuse could be given to Tony and he would eat it up like a starving animal. The need for excuses to get him by; he knew what he had done was something his old self would murder him for. Where had his love for his two boys gone? Of course, it had never disappeared. But the distance he had placed between them after the war caused the string to be cut too soon. 

“I’ve lost him,” whispered Tony, “I’ve lost _them._ ”

“You haven’t lost them, Tony.” The hands vanished and all he could see was Pepper. Her and her wisdom for words. She always knew what to say and do. Tony wished he could be like that, then maybe he would have gone to Peter by now. “You haven’t lost Harley, and you haven’t lost Peter. Jesus, Tony, they adore you. They’re your boys.”

 _I know,_ Tony nodded along to her words. He needed to get up; he needed to get to Peter. 

“They’re _our_ boys,” said Pepper. “And right now, Peter needs you.” Her eyes were gentle. “Don’t worry about Harley and Morgan. I’ve got them.”

His mental block from the situation didn’t falter as he stood up and went after Peter. Nor did it when he stood outside Peter’s door, which was shut as an obvious reminder that he wanted everyone to leave him alone. Like he had done for months. And for once, Tony was going to pluck up the courage to confront him and offer the boy what he needed. 

“Peter?” Tony wrapped his knuckles on the door lightly. He didn’t hear any sign that Peter was moving around in there, nor did the boy answer to his call. 

Tony opened the door. He found Peter curled up in a ball, facing away from the door. 

“Peter?”

“I don’t wanna talk right now, Dad.”

The conversation should have ended right there. But today, Tony wasn’t going to let his son waste away. He would not make Peter talk. But he sure had half a mind to stay with him.

“I’m not here to force you to talk, Peter.”

“Then what are you here for?” 

Tony waited before answering. He wanted to choose his words wisely. Saying the wrong thing could end up in a fight. Not that he wanted to start an argument. It would be Peter to be the first to strike a match, but Tony had decided he would be the one to let it burn until it reached the end. Neither one of them were going to end up blowing it out, and Tony planned to keep it that way. 

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

Tony swallowed. There was no such emotion written in the depths of Peter’s tone. One by one he would answer any unneeded question without any hesitation—he didn’t _care,_ and that terrified Tony. 

“Can I sit down? Sit down by you?” 

There was no verbal response. There was no response for a few moments until Peter, without looking back at Tony, shuffled to the middle of his bed, giving an open invitation for Tony to sit beside him. 

The oldest Stark shuffled to the bed, sitting down with his back against the headboard, placing a pillow behind his back and the other one upon his lap. If Peter ever did bother to look over, Tony hoped that the pillow in his lap was an open invitation for Peter to place his head there. 

Once he had settled, he looked at Peter positioning—specifically that he was curled protectively around himself with his head resting on the other pillow on the right side of the bed and an elephant plushie 

_(that was the one morgan gifted him, wasn’t it?)_

tightly secured against his chest. It made him look impossibly vulnerable. 

Neither spoke for a while. Tony wanted to desperately start running his hands through Peter’s hair but decided against it. 

Faintly, he remembered when Peter became incredibly clingy a couple of months back. Whenever Skip was in the room, Peter would gravitate towards him and make sure to stay as close to him as much as possible. He knew Skip would never try anything if Peter was that close to Tony in the same room. Nor would he make the briefest eye contact with the teenager. Then, he parted ways with Tony as he became busier and busier with work—when he started going to bed early, and the amount of energy he could handle was a late-night talk with Pepper, kiss his daughter goodnight despite remaining passed out and a quick check-in with Peter to make sure he was still alive and breathing well. Occasionally, he would sneak into Peter’s room, his son passed out, buried beneath his covers and arms wound around that damn elephant; Tony would sit down on the bed and let his fingers soothe back Peter’s curls before smiling at knowing that his son was safe and that he was _home._

_(he never was safe)_

_(anyone with an iq higher than 90 would have noticed it)_

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

Tony’s eyes wandered over the many things littering his son’s room. From Star Wars posters to revision cards and textbooks piling on his desk. “He’s going away,” he answered in a murmur. 

“Away where?’

“You won’t ever have to see him again.”

There was no reply for a couple of minutes. 

“He did it to other kids—”

“Peter—”

“No.” Peter sat up, startling Tony as he swivelled round to him. He didn’t look him in the eyes, as he hadn’t done for so many months.

Tony didn’t want Peter to talk about what happened to him. The thought of it made Tony nauseous, knowing that he hadn’t done anything about it—

“H-he did it - he did it to other kids. Kids younger than me, Dad.” Peter broke off suddenly, his head dropping and shoulders shaking. He was crying again—mirroring Tony, his cries were silent and unresponsive. “I don’t know who they are, but they n-need help.”

“Sh, sh, shh,” Tony hushes, his hand reaching up to touch Peter’s shoulder, caress his cheek—anything to show Peter that he was there to listen. He was nowhere else but in front of Peter, ready to listen to everything he may say or not say. “What is it that you want me to do, Peter?” he asked with no hesitation as he might once have. “Peter? What do you want me to do?”

The crying continued in small, short breaths, shoulders shaking and chest stuttering. Tony looked over to his bedside table to retrieve his inhaler when Peter spoke up.

“Can you hold me?” 

Tony nodded. “Of course.”

Peter moved so he could settle himself on Tony’s lap. The pillow was moved aside and Peter’s lanky form curled around Tony. Beneath his fingers, Tony could feel the bones protruding from his hoodie. Up close he saw the grease and grime that littered the damp curls. Peter’s hands, that had bunched up against Tony’s chest, were shaking and clammy. 

Hesitantly, Tony’s left hand cradled the back of Peter’s head, pulling his face to rest on his chest. He hadn’t held Peter like this for years. For Tony, it had been years, yet for Peter, it had been months. Tony regretted that he had distanced himself from Peter after he had come back. It was easier with Harley because the kid had an open confirmation at MIT for him. But for Peter, the neglect must have been hard to adjust to. Excuses didn’t come to Tony’s mind as he thought about the refusal of touch from Peter at times. Although it was rare, the fear of losing him again had him backing away from Peter like the plague. 

The tension in Peter’s form didn’t subside. 

“You know, when Rhodey and I were in college together, he had the responsibility to look after me?”

Peter was silent for a moment before he shifted slightly, burrowing deeper by his dad. “Look after you?” he croaked. 

Tony let out a weak chuckle. “Yeah, uh—I was young and stupid. Your age. As you know…”

“Rhodey never shut up about it…”

“You’re right there—and he never failed to tell anyone what a pain in the ass I was. Can you imagine a kid in college?”

“Nah, I can’t imagine that…”

Even though Tony couldn’t see Peter’s face, he could tell he was smiling. 

“It’s like babysitting a toddler. Not that I have any experience with babysitting.”

“Ah, I w-wouldn’t say that.”

Tony huffed out a laugh. “You’re right; you and your brother were a handful.”

A moment of silence. Tony swallowed against the offending lump in his throat and got back to the point.

“Anyways, uh—there was this time when - when we were invited to a party. I was, you know? —pretty well-known thanks to my dad. And Rhodey was my roommate. He heard and told me not to go. And I was a little shit so I went anyway.”

“Rhodey _and_ Happy would agree you still were.”

“I’ll let that one slide; and just so you know, highly offended.” No smirk accompanied him when he heard the familiar tell-tale sign of a slight huff from Peter; the type of Happy huff that was willing Tony to hush up and continue. “Yeah, uh, he told me not to go. I went. Stupid idea. I don’t condone underage drinking. It killed me a little. And … I got into this huge fight. A whole 5 ‘6 me, gearing up to fight this guy who was at least two heads taller than me.

“You can probably guess it didn’t end as well as it started. I thought I was the big guns; oh, being Howard Stark’s child would make me invincible. No, I brought more enemies than I did fans in my college years.”

“Why did he hate you?” Peter’s voice was timid, almost afraid to ask Tony. 

“Never got the reason. Like I said, being Howard Stark’s child wasn’t everything.”

_(just like being the son of tony stark wasn’t everything)_

“I was already drunk enough as it was. No one helped me back to the dorms and I got an earful from Rhodey when I stepped through the door; the poor guy had stayed up to make sure I hadn’t landed myself in a ditch somewhere. But …” Tony swallowed; he’s a little surprised he could still remember this night. He’s sure Rhodey must remember as well. “He stopped when he saw my face. His face dropped like—I don’t know, he looked like he wanted to cry.

“He fixed me up. I don’t remember what I had been babbling onto him about. Rhodey had been patient with me. He listened to me and took his time to understand how I was feeling. The whole time he never left me, despite hardly knowing me.” 

Peter’s breathing was beginning to slow. Tony looked down at the inhaler and the elephant that he had dropped beside before he climbed into Tony’s lap. Two very vulnerable things that belonged to Peter; it made his chest restrict its air. 

“It wasn’t long until Rhodey forced me to change and tuck me into bed. It reminded me of my mother, and I’ve never been a stranger to Rhodey’s mother-henning.”

Another huff from Peter, this time a little shorter—his exhaustion was getting the better of him. 

“Even after every shite thing I did when I was a teenager, all the shite I put Rhodey through—what I put Jarvis, Pepper and Happy through—they never left my side. And their patience meant a whole lot to me. More than I could have asked for.

“And, I hadn’t returned the favour to many. I never gave that patience to you. When you needed me the most. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I’m sorry for separating myself from you when you needed me most of all. I know I’ve been a shitty dad, and I understand if you don’t want to talk to me right now. I love you so _so_ much, and nothing will ever change that.” He paused to swallow the tears that were yet again building waterfalls in his eyes. “Come to me whenever you feel ready. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

Although Peter’s breathing had evened out, on the brink of sleep, he nodded, mumbled incoherency and snuggled closer to Tony.

There was one thing that stayed on Tony’s mind for the rest of the night as he watched Peter drift off into a restless sleep; he wouldn’t let Peter drift so far away from him ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> book 1 is complete ! book 2 will take quite a long time to come out since i want to properly layout the chapters in order to make it as realistic and respectable as possible because book 2 will be focusing on the aftermath and peter's way of coping - a bit like a character study surrounding his mental health and trauma. it is also centred around 'far from home' as well.
> 
> i just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who left kudos , bookmarked , commented and overall gave this fic a chance ! the comments from the last chapter were insane ?? once again , thank you all so so much !!
> 
> the best to all of you and a lotta love <33 stay safe out there :)
> 
> ( i changed the whole of the last part from the lullaby to a story from tony because it seemed more fitting )


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